


Cargo

by GoldenThrush



Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Blind Character, Consensual Sex, Explorative Sex, F/M, Highly Descriptive Sex, Hurt/Comfort, Mando'a Language (Star Wars), Oral Sex, Post-Canon, Protective Din Djarin, Resolved Sexual Tension, Rough Sex, Sexual Education, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn, Tender Sex, Touch-Starved Din Djarin, Unknown Sexual Territory, Vaginal Sex, Various Forms of Intimacy, Wounded Soldier Fantasy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2021-02-23
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:00:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 26,778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28456467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoldenThrush/pseuds/GoldenThrush
Summary: When Din Djarin sets out to help Marshal Dune take down a child trafficking ring, he finds himself suddenly saddled with new cargo. Ex-rebel operative and closest friend of Marshal Dune, Sennisab (Senn) Gann. Promising Dune to keep her friend safe, Din and Senn set out on a mission to track down and stop the trafficking ring...but will their mutual respect for each other grow into something more?...OF COURSE IT WILL, DARLINGS.
Relationships: Din Djarin/Original Female Character(s), Din Djarin/Reader
Comments: 24
Kudos: 85





	1. Chapter 1

122 days after parting with Grogu, Cara Dune’s voice and image shimmered into view over the holocom at the helm of Din Djarin’s, new ship--a retrofitted new republic cruiser, courtesy of Dune’s division. 

“Cara, how are you?”  
“Hey Mando. Sorry, no time for pleasantries. I could really use your help on this one.”   
“I don’t work for the republic, Dune.”   
“I’ll give you my commission on this. I think you’ll want in on this one.”

Din paused mid-systems check and turned to face the ex-rebel’s image. Her eyes were anxious, disturbed even. 

“What’s the job?” Din finally conceded. Dune’s posture relaxed slightly before she transferred the holo image to her map.   
“It’s a slaver den on Geonosis. Last known location of Kalak Belmund. Ex-Hutt cartel trafficking kaiser who deals in, well...live assets.” Dune hesitated.  
“You called me to help you take down a dying prostitution ring?”   
“Something like that.”   
“What are you not saying, Dune?”   
“Our intel suggests they’re about to move their operation permanently, so we may never get the chance to bring them down again. And we know they have kids.”   
“Kids?”  
“Yeah. I thought maybe you’d want exercise some of that Mandalorian foundli--”  
“Send me the coordinates. I’ll meet you there.”   
“Ha! I pegged you right from the beginning, Mando. Rendezvous is 0800 planetside, three leagues north of the drop zone. Come in low. We think they may have upper atmosphere sensors."   
“I’ll be there.” 

Din reached over and flicked a switch to end the call. Dune’s coordinates arrived with a low tone a moment later. The Mandalorian slid his helmet from his shoulders, set the cruiser to autopilot, and slumped back into his chair with a heavy sigh. Instinctively, he nearly glanced over his shoulder at the empty passenger chair to his right as it would have sat in the Razorcrest. Closing his eyes, he ran his hands through his hair and down around his neck. 

“What are you doing...” he asked no one in particular. 

* * *

Din carefully guided his retrofitted cruiser in at 5,000 feet as he approached Dune’s coordinates from the southwest. The harsh, rocky landscape of Geonosis greeted him with a red dawn and the smell of aging imperial gas clouds. It had been long enough since the planet’s sterilization for new colonies to form, but not long enough for the genocide committed here to have been completely forgotten.   
Din put down just outside the makeshift NR base and double-checked his armour and ammunition supply before departing. Dune stood at the end of the ramp with a smirk hidden beneath a genuine smile as the Mandalorian disembarked. 

“Good to see you, Mando.”   
“It’s good to see you too, Cara.” Din replied low through the modulated filter of his helmet. They two friends embraced as soldiers, clasping arms and exchanging solemn nods. Dune gestured with a tilt of her head.   
“This way. We need to talk shop a little before going in, guns blazing,” she sighed. Din nodded and followed the ex-drop trooper.

* * * 

“We think they’re holding the prisoners here in the old underground gas bunker until they’re ready to move.” Dune explained as she pointed at the holo map.   
“How much time?” Din asked.  
“Our scouts say they’re less than 6 hours out from total exodus. They’re loading up a newly registered cargo blockhouse freighter as we speak. Mostly drugs, some salvaged ore, and--,”  
“The kids.”   
“Well, that’s just it. We think they’re waiting till the last minute to load the live cargo for the sake of security.”   
Din studied the holo with a distance gaze. 

“How many?” he asked.  
“Security detail of 7, and 4 prisoners we know of. Maybe more.”   
“When do we go?”  
“Thought you’d never ask.” Dune smirked, slinging her new scoped carbine over her shoulder and turning. “Havoc squad, with me!” she barked.   
An assault team of 4 peeled off from the sides of the operations room and fell in with their marshal as she strode toward the launch bay. After a moment the Mandalorian followed, only a few strides behind.

* * *

The strike ship was soon filled to the brim as 4 RN officers and a Mandalorian were stuffed in the tiny cargo hold of an old transport glider. The craft hovered along relatively silent for less than 10 minutes before Dune’s voice crackled in over the comms.

“Okay, we’re approaching the south entrance. They have no idea we’re coming, so low and fast is how we’ll do this. There are only 7 hostiles, so let Mando take the lead and watch his back.”   
The 4 NR officers turned to glance at the stranger their commander referred to, who did his best to ignore them.   
Din moved steadily to the ramp as Dune eased the craft into the cold sand. He crouched low and readied himself for combat.

The blast doors hissed and creaked as light suddenly poured into the hold. The Mandalorian was already moving. Out of the vessel and on the ground in two strides, the phase-pulse blaster leaped in his hands with a quick shrug and a flick of his wrist. The surroundings he stepped into, however, were quiet. 

Makeshift site indeed. Before him lay the remnants of a native temple, long robbed of its wealth, now sand-stripped and crumbling, half-sunken into the harsh terrain. The entrance sported abandoned turret stands, toppled storage bins, and ragged canvas tent sheets that had rolled and clung to the first structure they’d encountered like tumbleweeds. The blockhouse freighter Dune had mentioned sat abandoned against the east wall of the temple. No bodies in or out. Din ran his scanners. His helmet indicated no heat signatures inside or around the building. 

“Dune,” he motioned to the ex-drop trooper as she approached the scene. “What’s going on here?” To the Mandalorian’s genuine surprise, his friend was already hurrying inside, swift and low, but hardly stealthy. 

“Sennisab!” Dune shouted. “Sennisab!...Senn!”   
“Dune!” Din called out after her. What had suddenly gotten into his friend? She was ignoring her own orders and protocol. Something was very wrong. 

The Mandalorian quickly raced inside after the marshal, the squad just behind him. The temple looked even more run down from inside. The roof of the north end was missing and most of the dormitories had caved in what looked to be years ago. The altar still sported a halved statue of a woman reaching up toward a star. However, just under the altar dias, dark stairs could be seen descending down into the recesses of an old vault or bunker. New metal bracers held the entrance open precariously. Dune descended the steps before even investigating for traps.

“Dune! Hold on!” Din shouted. But it was no use. The new republic marshal bolted down the dark, steep steps still calling out. The Mandalorian shook his head in disbelief and turned to address the squad--who seemed just as confused. 

“Hold position here for a few minutes before following,” he addressed the two closest officers. “You two, keep watch outside and stay out of sight unless you hear trouble.” he offered the others in a breathy voice before following Cara underground. The squad leader nodded, grateful for some direction. 

The bunker was dirt and bracing rods until steel studs began to permeate the walls and floors. It soon became a maze, but he could still hear Cara’s shouts. 

“Dune!” the Mandalorian called out again.   
“Here!” Dune’s voice finally returned. 

Din rushed toward the sound. After a few more wrong turns, he activated his helmet’s heat signature detection filter again and found two figures. One bright and standing, the other dim and lying prone a few feet below the first. Din sprang into action, slinging the rifle into place on his back and rushing to the scene.   
When he finally arrived, one of Dune’s flares sputtered on the floor, casting light all around the small room. The ceiling was lower here. Dune had knelt on the dirt floor, and pressed herself up against a low grate of iron. A cage. 

“Hold on! We’re gonna get you out of there!” she called out to the figure inside, still obscured by darkness. 

Din approached and drew his blaster. Dune understood and moved back quickly. Five shots later, the primitive locks had softened enough to warrant an attempt to break it down. The Mandalorian knelt, gripped the bars, and wrenched at the barricade with all his might. Dune moved in once more to assist. After a few more pulls, the whole mechanism gave way from the wall with a piercing screech. They both fell back with the weight of the bars as the two squad members tasked with backup rushed into the space, blasters drawn. 

“It’s okay!” Dune shouted out to her men as she rolled and righted herself. “Get a med kit! Now!”  
The two disappeared again in a frenzy and the Mandalorian kicked the bars away. He stood and hit the light on the side of his helmet. 

“What’s going on, Dune? This is not what you told me we were walking into,” he murmured.  
“Sorry, Mando. I also walked into this a little blind. I’ll explain soon. Right now we need to get Senn out of there and back to base as soon as possible.”   
“Senn?” Din echoed. He knelt and shone his light into the sunken prison cell.

Sprawled on the ground in a pool of dark liquid lay a human woman with a chestnut mass of hair. She breathed erratically, one arm outstretched on the ground, a rebel blaster half-gripped in muddy fingers. She was clothed in plain cold desert raider garb, but was clearly not of Geonosis. 

“Senn! It’s me! It’s Cara!” Dune called out. The woman responded with a sedated attempt to roll over.   
“Don’t move! I’m coming down!” the marshal barked.   
Din was already shifting flat onto his side. He shimmied and rolled deftly before tumbling down and landing on his feet in the hovel. The smell of fresh blood hit him as he turned to help Dune follow him down. 

“Senn, hey, don’t move. Mando, I need light.” Dune repeated as she rushed forward and slid to her knees in the dirty sand next to the woman. The Mandalorian might have been angry at her rash behaviour had it not been for the desperation in his friend’s tone. Something he had never heard or seen before in Cara Dune. It was as distracting as it was unnerving. Regardless, he obeyed and approached the two women, the light from his helmet casting long shadows against the rounded dirt and steel walls.

Carefully, Dune grasped the woman’s shoulder and turned her over, holding her head up and placing it gently in her lap. Din caught another whiff of fresh blood as she was moved, and watched a thick stream ooze from a gash just above the woman’s collarbone. It looked to be a knife.   
The woman was very pale and had likely lost plenty of blood. Her shoulder-length hair was matted with dirt, sand, and blood; bangs plastered to her brow with sweat. She couldn’t have been much younger than Dune. Her lips were cracked and bleeding with dehydration and one of her hands was purple with injury. 

“Senn. Sennisab, talk to me. Open your eyes, please,” Dune begged. Slowly, the woman obeyed.

Din’s breath caught in his throat. Her eyes were clouded and bleached with blindness.

“Cara...I’m so sorry,” the woman began in a calm, but weak voice. Her throat bobbed as she tried to swallow. “I tried to delay them, but they found me out.”   
“Shut up, you idiot. We’ll sort it out.” Dune returned, affection in her voice. The woman closed her eyes again and tried to smile. Thinly veiled pain shuddered through her limbs.   
“Is this your Manadalorian friend you were telling me about?” the strange woman asked. Both women suddenly looked at Din, who unwittingly flinched when those pale eyes lingered over his helmet.   
“Yes,” Dune smiled. “Mando, this is Sennisab Gann, a rebel operative, and my oldest friend.” 

“You’re so sentimental when you’re scared, Dune.” Senn teased.

“Marshal!” The squad leader had returned with the others, a gurney, and a med kit.   
“Down here! We’re coming up!” Dune called back. Catching her urgent glance, Din jumped into action and helped lift Senn toward the cell opening. 

The gurney was quickly lowered and they were able to gently roll her onto the steel slab with a grunt. Once this was done, Din formed a foothold with his hands, which Dune used to leap back into the main bunker space. The Mandalorian followed with a far less graceful jump and roll, his rifle getting tangled against his limbs with the movement. Dune and the others were already jogging back through the maze of the bunker alongside the floating gurney.


	2. Chapter 2

Only once they were all crammed back into the old transport glider and on their way back to the base, did Din confront his friend. 

“You told me there were kids being loaded into that freighter. That we had 6 hours,” he began, his deep voice brimming with anger.  
“I’m afraid that’s bad intel on my part, Mandalorian,” Senn interrupted as one of the officers tried to keep her from sitting up while he cleaned her wound. Pale, weak, and close to dead as she was, she continued to speak up in defense of her friend.

“Belmund sped up the whole operation and abandoned the freighter a few hours ago. He caught me trying to cut the fuel lines to buy more time,” she explained, breathless.  
“And the kids?” Din pressed. Senn closed her eyes and shook her head, gritting her teeth at the fresh pain.  
“Offworld hours ago. I’m sorry, Cara. I tagged the ship, but I couldn’t get a message to you in time. After Belmund attacked me, I baracadded myself there in the bunker.”  
“But you tagged the ship?” Din demanded. Senn nodded, collapsing back down onto the gurney with a thud and a grunt of pain.  
“It’s my fault they got away.” Senn hissed through the aftershock. Dune sighed and shook her head.  
“You did your job, Senn.” she offered, reaching for her friend’s uninjured hand and squeezing it. 

Din took in their exchange and nodded. He probably would’ve tried to do the same in the operative’s shoes.  
“Dune’s right,” he offered after a moment, his voice softer. Dune took over her officer’s task, holding a clean towel to the wound above Senn’s collarbone while the others prepped bandages. The Mandalorian finally took a moment to assess the woman’s condition. The purple and red bruising on her other hand was getting darker.

“When did that happen?” he asked, gesturing with a tilt of his head. He instantly chided himself for forgetting her blindness. “Sorry, your hand, its--,”  
“A few hours ago,” she answered him. How did she know what he was referring to?  
“Belmund slammed it in the port door when he confronted me. Does it look bad? I can’t feel it yet,” she asked.  
Dune winced when she finally noticed it. Din shifted around in the tiny hold until he was at Senn’s side. Carefully, he lifted her arm at the elbow to study the injury.

“One of your fingers is broken, but there are also two out of place. They have to be put back before they’re stuck like that forever,” he spoke low.  
“By all means,” Senn’s gaze was fixed on the far wall, but she nodded with a slight smile. She turned then, her clouded eyes hovering high on his visor, above his eyeline, but he still felt the fearful gratitude in them.  
He gently clasped her wrist in one gloved hand and, in one swift movement, drove the two digits back into their sockets with a sickening, muted pop. Senn let out a yelp that ended in a colourful curse. Dune winced again. 

“Thank you,” Senn stammered as Din carefully placed her arm down over her middle. He took the injector one of the officers was preparing and positioned it just above Senn’s pulse on the uninjured side of her neck. With a click and a hiss, the drug was spreading throughout her system. The Mandalorian’s helmet tilted slightly in quiet thought as Senn’s pale eyes rolled back and she succumbed to the effects of the meds. 

* * *

A medical detail was standing ready by the time the small ship returned, and Senn’s limp form was rushed inside for full treatment.

“Thank you,” Dune sighed.  
“What about the others? How do we track down Belmund?” Din spoke low. The marshal rubbed the back of her neck.  
“My jurisdiction stops here. This was supposed to be the end. Senn might know where he’s headed--where he hides out--but I don’t have the clearance or the resources to hunt him down. Not without a damn good lead.”  
“Then we wait for Senn to wake up. Do you think she’ll have more intel for you?”  
“I’m sure she will. She was undercover with his operation for three months. But I can’t go after him. There are rules now, Mando. Rules I can’t ignore. Not if we want the new republic to mean something.”  
“I’ll take it from here.” Din declared. Dune smiled.  
“I was hoping you’d say that,” she conceded. “As soon as you find him, you call me. For now I have to get Senn out of this parsec. If her cover was blown, Belmund will hunt her until he’s taken down.”  
“Doesn’t she have a safehouse? She’s a republic operative, right?” Din turned to his friend, who shook her head.  
“Rebel operative, remember? Senn’s been working off-book for a long time. There’s no organization left to protect her, even if she wanted it. I’ve been trying to get her onboarded with the NR, but it’s been difficult to clear her without a proper service record. Not to mention, the Intelligence committee isn’t exactly rushing to vet and approve a blind agent--no matter how skilled she is...”  
“So, she is blind,” Din breathed. “How does she…”  
“Do her job?” Dune cut him off with a hint of animosity. “Just like anyone else, Mando. Senn’s always been...intuitive. Ever since we were kids, she’s just had a way of navigating the world. Sometimes better than anyone.”

The Mandalorian stood rigid for a few more moments in deep thought.  
“Does she have...abilities?” he hesitated.  
Dune laughed outright.  
“Hah! You mean like Jedi? Not that she’s ever mentioned. Senn’s just well adapted. If you’re really curious, ask her yourself. She’s got nothing to hide.”  
“An operative with nothing to hide.” Din murmured. 

* * *

Two moons overlapped in the desert night sky, unbelievably dark and dizzying, when the proximity alarm sounded at the helm of his cruiser. Din startled out of a light sleep, quickly slipped his helmet on, and scanned the ship’s dash. It had only been a few hours since nightfall, but the base was suddenly lit up with movement and shouts just outside. Dune’s image and voice suddenly crackled in over the ship’s holo comms. 

“Mando! It looks like some of Belmund’s men. I think they’re here for Senn. They’re coming from the temple. They must’ve gone back for her.”  
His friend’s voice was shaky and enraged.  
“Please, I need--,”

“I’ll take her,” Din cut her off. 

Dune’s posture instantly wilted with gratitude. Gathering herself, she nodded once and ended the call. Din swallowed, suddenly digesting the promise he’d just made. Shaking the sudden words from his mind, he stood and bolted for the exit ramp, checking his blaster as he moved quickly. 

Dune was already outside and jogging toward his ship, an automatic blaster cannon slung over her shoulder and a steel gurney gliding along at her side. The Mandalorian holstered his blaster and skidded to a stop in the coarse sand. Without a word, he gathered Senn’s limp body in his arms and lifted her off the steel slab with ease. Dune held up an unopened med pack. 

“Here,” she panted, dropping the pack on Senn’s middle. “Blue for pain, orange for infection.”  
The helmet nodded.  
A scattering of lights suddenly appeared low in the night sky from the east accompanied by the delayed rumble of frenzied engines. 

“Go! Go, now!” Dune shouted as she turned and began sprinting back to the base.  
The Mandalorian only hesitated for a moment before turning and rushing back up the ramp into his ship with his new cargo.


	3. Chapter 3

Once inside, Din placed the woman gently on the grated floor before darting forward to the cockpit chair. The cruiser was sealed and hurtling out of the atmosphere within seconds. The Mandalorian remained at the helm until he was certain there were no pursuers before inputting a series of coordinates and initiating the jump to hyperspace. 

Only after the cockpit was lit with the dim blue sheen of hyperspace movement did he release a heavy sigh and regain his bearings. After a few moments spent in a retrospective daze, the helmet finally looked up and turned. Din rose and drifted over to the woman laying on the floor of his ship. 

Senn looked peaceful as he approached and knelt to examine her injuries. Suddenly thinking better of it, he slipped one arm beneath her back, the other under her knees, lifted, and carried her to his bunk. He placed her onto the cot and stepped back.   
It was hard not to stare at the new creature in his small home. Senn’s dark brown hair was still matted against her skin with blood and the cold desert debris. Her slim form was slightly contorted from the strange angle he had deposited her into, but she breathed evenly. Long dark lashes rested under her messy bangs, Her lips were pale and cracked, but wide and as they parted ever so slightly with each breath. She was still dehydrated, but her hand already looked better, though it should be bandaged. 

Din shook himself out of his stupor and went back for the med pack Dune had given him, discarded on the cockpit floor.

‘No more strays,’ he chided himself. Ashamed for indulging in such boyish thoughts. 

When he returned, Senn’s white eyes were open and bleary. Slightly started, Din hesitated for a moment before speaking. 

“You okay?” he asked. Senn nodded, her good hand coming to rest on her forehead.   
“What happened?” she croaked. The helmet dropped to the side slightly with remorse.   
“The base was attacked while you slept,” he began softly. “Dune asked me to get you offworld, keep you safe until she can figure something out.”  
Senn grimaced and released a painful sigh. 

“Damnit...” she whispered.   
“Dune knows what she’s doing. Getting you far away was the best move,” the Mandalorian offered. Senn remained quiet for a moment in thought, her eyes on the wall of the tiny bunk cubby.   
“The tracker I placed on Belmund’s ship has a radius threshold of less than ten lightyears. If he jumped to hyperspace, I wouldn’t know where to begin looking.”   
Din set the med kit down on the edge of the cot.  
“I have a few ideas about that,” he offered. 

A long silence passed between operative and Mandalorian. Just when Din turned to leave, Senn’s lips parted.   
“Is this your ship?” Senn asked.   
“Yes,”   
“Light NR cruiser?”  
“That’s right,”   
“Smells like one. Your air filter needs a change. I think there’s still Gualama hair coating the lines.”  
“I don’t...I’ve never been to Naboo in this ship…,”   
“The previous owner spent a lot of time there,” Senn explained matter of factly. “Gualama herds abound.”  
Din realized he was staring again and closed his mouth. 

“Sorry,” Senn suddenly put in. “Force of habit.”   
“No, it’s fine. I, uh…” Din stammered. “Your hand needs a brace and bandaging,” he finished.  
“Right. Thank you,” Senn nodded, fumbling for the med kit on the cot next to her. Feeling foolish, the Mandalorian quickly stooped and pushed the pack over until it was touching her wrist.   
“Thank you,” she repeated. 

He left quickly and returned with a canteen of water from the mess. 

“Here,” he offered the container to her. She looked up at his helmet for a moment with those unsettling pearl eyes, seemed to complete a quick calculation in her head, then reached out and took the canteen. Again, the Mandalorian was reminded of his poor etiquette toward her disability, but startled by her skill.   
“Thank you,” Senn returned and took a long drink from the canteen before starting on the task of dressing her tender hand.   
“Do you…,” Din began.   
“I’ll be fine,” Senn reassured him with a polite smile. “When I need help, I ask for it.” 

It was spoken like a mantra. The real weight of her affliction. Something this woman had always carried with her in addition to her disability, for others’ sake. Though the tone of her words was familiar, the Mandalorian still found himself disarmed by her conviction--her creed.

“The refresher is just down the ladder to the right if you want to clean up,” he offered. “Mess is to the left.”   
Senn simply looked up toward the top of his visor and smiled gratefully before returning to her task. 

After another moment’s hesitation, he nodded and turned to leave for the bridge, once more internally chastising himself for his continued use of visual cues.

Din slept in his chair at the helm. He woke occasionally when the ship whispered and creaked here and there as it was pushed through hyperspace. Each time he felt tempted to check on Senn, but each time he felt a pang of guilt at the thought of presenting her with a condescending gesture of pity. She was just as much of a soldier as Dune, and should be treated as such. 

He didn’t dream.

* * *

After a few hours, hunger pulled the Mandalorian from what little sleep he’d managed to capture, finally deeming it reasonable to look in on Senn--who probably also needed a meal. 

He slipped down the last few rungs of the ladder to find Senn asleep in the cot under one blanket, hand bandaged firmly placed gently next to her head. A fresh patch of gause and bacta had been neatly applied to her collarbone. Her hair and face were clean and damp. A shower of freckles was now visible running over her nose and across her cheeks, accompanied by the rosy glow of sleep.

Din once more shook himself and continued to descend the ladder to the mess. He found a few dehydrated meals sealed in heat pouches, which he set aside before blooming some bread. A few minutes later, he heard soft boots making their way down the ladder.

“You should rest,” Din spoke, his modulated voice quiet but firm.   
“I’m not sure I can take anymore rest. I’ve slept for almost two days,” Senn returned in his general direction.   
He could certainly understand that. 

“Did you sleep?” Senn asked as her boots hit the mess floor.   
“Some.”  
“I hope I’m not putting you out of your quarters,” she offered moving confidently from the ladder, running her hand gently along the storage wall to the sink.   
“Not really. I sleep on deck a lot.” he answered, watching as Senn found the tap, refilled the canteen, and wiped her hand on the damp towel tossed over the basin.   
“Where are we headed?” she asked after another long drink from the canteen. Once again, her eyes rested at the top of his visor, even from across the room.   
“Batuu,” Din replied evenly. Senn nodded.   
“Remote. Good for blending in,”  
“I have a contact there who might be able to tell me more about Belmund’s whereabouts,”  
“I’m sorry I can’t be of more help there. He never shared things like that with his subordinates. He doesn’t trust anyone. Rightly so, I suppose.” Senn lowered her eyes as she gathered her dark hair into a disheveled bun at the back of her head. Her long, elegant neck sported a small rebel crest tattoo close to her ear, much like Dune’s. The Mandalorian’s helmet tilted and he spoke without thinking. 

“You get that with Dune?” he asked, suddenly aware she might not know what he was referring to.   
“Yes,” she replied quickly, touching the inked skin fondly with bandaged fingertips. “We’ve been through a lot together.” she smiled faintly.   
The Mandalorian filled the silence that followed with a quick mention of the food he’d laid out.

“Tableware is under the second shelf next to the sink. I don’t use it much, so there isn’t much there.”

“Thank you. I’ll eat in the bunk,” she affirmed, gathering one small eating knife and taking one of the pouches he’d described, her hand fumbling only once.   
Din frowned, a bit puzzled. 

“You can eat here,” he said carefully. Senn looked at his helmet with a degree of curious concern.   
“I’ve already put you out of your bunk, I don’t want to deprive you of your privacy as well,” she said, matter of fact.   
Din was very still for a moment as he considered her words and the plethora of insensitive questions that festered in his mind. She came to his rescue. 

“It’s alright. I may be blind, but I don’t want to make you uncomfortable,” she explained, her voice even and calm. He hesitated, but she was right.   
“Thank you,” he murmured after a moment. 

Senn nodded once, placed the pouch between her teeth, and ascended the ladder, favouring her injured hand. 

The Mandalorian stood very still for a few moments, before slowly removing his helmet. He was suddenly hit with the smell of the artificial yeast from the bread he’d just bloomed, and something else. Something herbaceous and feminine. Swallowing, he set the heavy helmet down and ate his breakfast quietly.


	4. Chapter 4

Hours passed in the quiet blue shade of hyperspace.   
The distance required to reach Batuu was great. The Mandalorian sat complacent and solemn in his chair at the helm. It had been a long time since he’d shared his small living space with another warm body--even for a short while. Grogu was the last living thing he’d felt content to have around. Sometimes he still expected to hear a small cry or coo echo behind his chair. The phenomenon was now amplified by the occasional rustling fabric brushing past the narrow spaces or the scuff of soft boots as Senn moved about quietly.

A sudden knock from below kicked Din out of his daze. Rising, he moved to the cockpit entrance and looked down. Senn stood below, the med pack in her good hand. 

“I need to beg a favour,” she spoke timidly. When I need help I ask for it.   
Din descended the ladder instantly.   
“What is it?” he asked.  
Senn presented him with the med kit.   
“Colours really aren’t my forte,” she explained, with a sheepish smirk. Din took the med pack from her.   
“Of course,” he said. “What do you need?”  
“Just a shot for numbing,” she hesitated. “My back is starting to get distracting.”   
“Your back?” Din echoed, looking at the bandages on her neck.   
“Dune didn’t mention, did she? I guess there probably wasn’t time.”   
“Mention what?”   
“Belmund got a good shot in. Here.” Senn turned and tried to point at a spot between her spine and her shoulder bone over her shirt.   
“Bad?” Din asked.   
“I was hoping you’d tell me,” she chuckled quietly. “It’s just starting to sting enough to not let me sleep.” 

Din nodded (once more forgetting the uselessness of visual cues), and opened the pack to root around for one of the blue syringes Dune had mentioned. Senn untied the side opening on her tunic and peeled it back just enough to expose a patch of burned skin. Din swallowed hard. 

Holding the syringe in one hand, he carefully took the flap of fabric from Senn’s fingers so she could brace herself. When he held the thin canvas, however, a glimpse of blackened blood caught his eye. Gently, he shifted more of the fabric away to reveal a massive cauterized wound. He did his best not to react, but Senn heard his breath hitch even beneath the helmet. 

“Bad?” she grimaced.   
“What was it?” he asked, finding a safe spot to deposit the drug. Her skin warmed the leather fingertips of his gloves. A handful of those same freckles were spread sparsely across her back.   
“Sounded like a hand laser cannon,” she said between her teeth as the needle plunged into the deep tissue.   
“Belmund must really not like you,” Din commented to fill the thick silence as Senn caught her breath.  
“I’d like to think so,” she huffed. He smiled beneath his helmet. 

“Done,” the Mandalorian stepped away and closed the med pack to let Senn refasten her tunic.   
“Thank you,” she said, holding her hand out for the med pack.   
“You’re welcome.” Din replied, pathetically proud of himself for finally using his words.   
“How much longer until we’re planetside?” Senn asked.   
“A hour or two,”   
“Sounds good. I’m going to try to get a little more sleep before then. I’ll come up to the bridge soon.”   
“Right.” 

* * *

Senn was right on time.   
Batuu stretched out across most of the dash, a mess of green, yellow, and blue petrified jungle and urban expanse. 

“Take a seat,” the Mandalorian suggested, though it was more of a command. “The atmosphere here is a little choppy.” 

Senn obeyed quickly, strapping herself tightly into one of the seats along the wall of the cockpit.   
The craft glided down through the planet’s heavy cloud cover, skirting a tropical storm that battered them with wind and rain.  
Din skillfully navigated most of the denser pockets and finally set down a few leagues from a densely populated trade city.   
Senn felt and heard the big ship slowly shift and power down as the Mandalorian shut off all the unnecessary systems with a series of clicks and taps. 

“I’ll be back in a few days,” he stood and crossed the cockpit to where Senn was untangling herself from the seat straps.  
“Am I not coming along?” she started.   
“No. Dune trusted me to keep you safe, and they’re looking for you.”  
Senn wilted a little, but knew the Mandalorian was correct. 

“Here,” he knelt in front of her and spoke low. Taking her good hand, he placed a blaster in her palm. Senn nodded and set the weapon on her utility belt.   
“You should be safe here, but if anything happens while I’m gone, hit this fob.” he took her hand again and placed the small metal disk in her fingers. The leather of his gloves was cool, but she felt warmth in his voice. 

“Thank you. And good luck,” she offered. 

* * *

The bacta and extra days of rest did wonders.   
Senn slept, ate, bathed, and meditated more frequently than she had in ages.   
She decided she liked this ship. It was short of space and storage, but it was solid and well-kept. She was careful to remain vigilant in tending to her wounds. Her hand felt better each morning and the gash above her collarbone remained somewhat tender, but had scared over completely by the third day. 

It was the fourth day that started to worry her. 

The Mandalorian had not yet returned. Senn resolved to pack up some supplies and go look for him if there was still no sign of him by sunrise. She paced and puttered all day, restless and uneasy with helplessness as more rain pounded the cruiser. She had worked hard all her life to keep from feeling helpless...but this was different. Thunder rolled lazily from time to time.   
Senn gathered they had landed in a temperate rainforest of some kind. Even inside the ship, she could smell the heavier oils of the ferns--likely undergrowth--and the high silt levels of the soil.  
She sat at the helm, lost in thought until the cool touch of evening pimpled her skin. The ship’s night-cycle indicator clicked into place as Senn began to drift in and out of sleep, the sonant memory of a deep modulated voice speaking close to her face, swimming in her ears. 

Finally, just as she was beginning to consider starting her search early, the crack and screech of the loading ramp shuddered her out of her daze, and she bolted from the chair and down the ladder.  
A rush of fresh, cold, damp air hit her and the sound of the rain intensified against the opening ship. She sighed with relief as she heard and felt the weight of the Mandalorian’s beskar armour as he ascended the ramp, but something was wrong. His steps were erratic and laboured. 

“Mando?” she called out, moving toward the ramp uneasily. She suddenly wished she knew his name. His breathing was laboured and unsteady. 

“Senn…” his voice struggled through the helmet.   
Din could see his cargo making her way cautiously down the ramp, but he couldn’t bring himself to call out a second time. He clutched his side where the knife still sat between his ribs. He didn’t dare pull it out yet, not until he could control the bleeding. 

“What happened?” Senn located him easily as he collapsed against the side of the ship, his armour scraping against the wall as the ramp closed, the wind and rain once more muffled. She ran over and dropped to his side. She could smell fresh blood and laboured sweat. 

“S-s’okay,” Din struggled out. “...Old quarry knifed me between the plates. Can’t really blame him.” His words were punched from his lungs as he struggled to breathe.   
“Common, we’ve got to take care of this,” Senn spoke firmly as she hauled one of his arms over her shoulders and heaved.

They limped along together into the main corridor where Senn placed the Mandalorian’s back to the wall and let him slip down to the floor as carefully as possible. He was shivering with cold, or pain, or both. His armour and thermal clothes beneath were soaked through and filthy with mud.  
As soon as Senn was certain he wouldn’t tip one way or the other, she sprang for the med kit and readied a cauterizer spanner. Din’s breathing was unnervingly erratic as he swallowed and tried to get the pain under control. Senn dropped to her knees and worked quickly, forming a funnel gause and cutting strips of bandage in preparation for removing the knife. 

“Blue?” she asked, holding up a syringe in front of his visor.   
“Orange,” he choked out.   
She quickly discarded it and held up another.   
“Blue,” he confirmed. Senn quickly removed one of his gloves, ripped the cap off the needle with her teeth, and felt for his vein before plunging the needle into his arm. He kept as still as possible for her as she felt around his side for the size and width of the knife, the depth, and how much room she had to work with around the implement and between the beskar. Her fingertips were warm against his freezing skin. 

“I have to cut away some of the material around the knife,” she told him.   
“Okay,” he struggled out. She was mildly impressed he remembered to speak instead of nod, even now. 

Senn set to work, cutting a good 4x4 inch patch out from around the knife. Each time she brushed the offending weapon, Din shuddered or caught his breath, but still refused to flinch.

“Worst part is almost over,” she murmured as she worked, her pale eyes focused on the wall behind him. Din let out a choked sound of amusement. The numbing agent had started to take effect and Din could feel Senn’s body warmth as she hovered over him, his thigh straddled between her knees.

“Ready?” Senn asked, placing her hand around the handle of the knife as carefully as she could. Din hissed. “On three,”   
“Yeah,” he stammered.   
“One,” Senn immediately pulled the weapon from his side as smoothly as she could. 

The Mandalorian let out an anguished grunt, followed by a string of curses in what Senn could only assume was Mando’a, as she pressed the cauterizer to the gash in one smooth motion.   
When the spanner had done its job, she inserted the gauze, saturated with numbing gel, and tapped the sticky bandages over his patch of exposed skin as quickly as she could. Din took a few deep breaths, his chest-piece rising and falling forcefully. He let his head fall forward onto Senn’s shoulder with a wave of relief and exhaustion. 

“Okay, worst part’s over.” Senn declared, ignoring the drop of her stomach as the modulator of his helmet vibrated against her with each breath he shuddered out.   
“Common, we’ve got to get you lying on your side.” Senn declared firmly as she withdrew to wrap his arm over her shoulder once more. She hauled as much of his weight as she could from the floor. He grunted again with the effort of standing, and Senn suddenly regretted her choice to bathe that morning as she too was now soaked and mudded down one side. They hobbled together, Senn’s free hand on the wall, until she felt close enough to the cot to ease the Mandalorian’s weight down onto the thin mattress. Another muffled cry of pain escaped his throat and through his clenched teeth.  
Senn found she had to catch her own breath as she urged him to roll onto his good side, her hands drifting over the patch of warm skin. 

“Anything else? Just the knife?” she asked.   
“That’s it,” he huffed.   
“Are we safe here? Or is your friend going to come looking to finish the job?”   
“No...I took care of him.” Din replied more steadily now. The drugs were working. 

Senn breathed a sigh of relief and leaned up against the cubby wall, listening to the Mandalorian catch his breath. She shivered in her now damp clothes. Considering this, she lifted her head. 

“I’ll sleep on the bridge. Can you manage with your armour? You’re soaked through.”   
“Yes,”   
“Okay. I’ll check on you in a little while. Shout if you need me.”  
“Senn,” 

The operative turned back. 

“Din,” he spoke softly, almost hesitantly. “My name is Din,...Din Djarin.” 

Senn realized her mouth was open. She immediately recognized the significance of a Mandalorian sharing such a private thing. It was a gift. But one she didn’t wish to squander by sensationalizing it, or lingering in this new space between them so much as to make him uncomfortable. Instead she settled on a deep, respectful nod and spoke as evenly as she could.

“Din Djarin. Thank you. I’ll be back in a little while,” 

With that, Senn withdrew and shut the door quickly.   
She immediately set to work picking up the bloody mess they’d made in the corridor, which still smelled of cauterized flesh.   
Her stomach continued to jump about as she slowly processed everything that had just happened and the flood of feelings that burst forth shortly thereafter. It all came tumbling in on her at once after the adrenaline had subsided.

She’d wanted to stay with him--she finally admitted to herself. After hours, days, of waiting and wondering (and worrying, she supposed), only to be besieged by his sudden reappearance with a deadly injury was all very startling. But he was back. And safe. That was what was important. Foolhardy, girlish feelings aside.


	5. Chapter 5

Senn ghosted around the ship, lost in thought as she prepared some more supplies for treating the wound and threw together some food for herself. 

She couldn’t help but wonder as she went about with the rest of her evening, her mind wandering back to those few small touches and words that had been exchanged.  
When exactly had he decided to share his name with her?  
Was it a matter of respect?  
An offering for the exchange of life?  
She had saved his life, there was no doubt about that. But what of the rest?  
Cara had never mentioned his name, but then, perhaps it wouldn’t be right to do so, even if she knew it. Senn’s mind swam despite her many attempts to quell it. 

It had been ages since Senn had been touched by a man--in more ways than one.  
If it wasn’t her blindness it was her occupation that so often frightened away the notion of intimacy. There had been a few of course, but the idea hadn’t entered her mind for so long that now it all but crippled her ability to think straight. Stupid girl, Senn chided herself as she downed a few mouthfuls of rehydrated rice and vegetables. This was not the time. And Din couldn’t give her what she desired...whatever that was. It would be selfish to consider it. 

When two hours had passed, Senn deemed it safe to check in on the Mandalorian. She heated another packet of food, filled the canteen with water, and made her way up to the bunk. Setting the food carefully on the floor, she knocked hard on the sliding door.

“May I come in?” she asked. There was no reply. She knocked again. Still nothing. Beginning to panic, Senn knocked a third time. When a full minute passed, she opened the door. 

“Hey,” she tried. She could hear him breathing heavily through the modulated filter of his helmet. Fumbling for a moment, Senn felt at the end of the cot until her hands passed over freezing cold metal and fabric.

“Damnit,” she whispered. He had passed out before he could remove his beskar. She felt for his uncovered hand. He was practically hypothermic. 

Senn rushed out of the cubby and up the ladder for the ship’s main first aid kit that sat under the dash in the cockpit. A new republic cruiser HAD to have a thermal blanket in stock. After a few minutes opening and fumbling with different packages only to toss them aside, she finally felt the silicate fiber material of a thermal insulating blanket and flew back down the ladder with her prize.

“Hey! You have to wake up. We have to get you warm,” she pleaded, reaching out and giving his shoulder a firm shake. There was no response.  
Thinking quickly, Senn activated the blanket and carefully pulled the remaining glove off his other hand. The leather was shrunken with cold and it took some work to get it off. Din finally moved slightly, a rough noise escaping the helmet. 

“Common, wake up. You have to get warm.” Senn encouraged as she placed the slowly warming material between his bare hands. This seemed to revive him more and he startled a little. 

“Hey, are you with me? You’ve lost too much blood and you’ll go into shock if you don’t get warm. Din? Can you hear me?”  
A hitched sound of pain and a few quicker breaths sounded from his visor. 

“You have to get your armour off,”  
Din nodded in the dark cubby.  
“Din?” she tried again, unaware of his gesture. 

“I’m okay,” his deep modulated voice finally resonated in her ears. Senn exhaled. She could hear him shivering. He began to move as the shivering intensified, and the sound of straps and clicks against the cot suddenly prompted Senn to withdraw and leave him to his task.

Senn heard her name. 

Turning, she opened her mouth to answer but was paralyzed by the loud thud of his beskar helmet hitting the floor. It was too dense and compact to be anything else. 

“The chestpiece,” the Mandalorian’s suddenly unmodulated voice settled gently over her sensitive ears. “I’ll need a hand…” 

It was eerie how different, yet familiar the voice was. Senn had to consciously close her mouth again before she could answer.

“Of course,” she replied, snapping back into the moment and descending to help the man free himself of the beskar plates.  
“The wound. I can’t turn enough to…” he began.  
“I’ve got it,” Senn reassured him, feeling over his side, around the bandage, and over to the heavy, hidden clasps of the beskar chestpiece. After some unfastening and awkward shifting, the plating fell away to either side of the cot and the Mandalorian shivered even more intensely. Senn retrieved the thermal blanket, which was now quite warm. 

“Here,” she murmured, tossing the fabric over him as best she could.  
“Thank you,” he said, his deep voice was timid, but clear and genuine. Senn metally slapped herself as the sound wilted her knees. What she couldn’t know was how distracted the Mandalorian suddenly felt from the pain as his head was flooded with the scent of her herbed soap and feminine sweat. 

“Better?” she asked, trying to sound as unaffected as possible. She couldn’t bear the thought of drawing attention to his missing helmet.  
“Yes,”  
“Oh,” Senn turned and grabbed the food she had brought him from the corridor. “Here, she said, laying it next to the cot. “Getting some food in you will help too.”  
“Thank you,” he repeated, breathy and more relaxed. 

All Senn could think to do was nod and remove herself as quickly as possible again.  
Once the door was closed, she leaned back against it, took a deep breath, and berated herself for her adolescent thoughts.

* * *

Senn arranged herself on a makeshift bed of blankets and extra floor matting in the cockpit.  
By the time she was happy with her setup, she was warm and ready for sleep. Stripping down to her undershirt and thin trousers, she settled down in her nest and found sleep faster than she’d have thought possible. 

A few hours later, the cockpit door suddenly whirred into life and Senn jumped from her sleep, instantly aiming her blaster at the entrance.

“It’s me,” Din’s unmodulated voice reassured her. Senn’s heart returned to her chest and she holstered the weapon with a massive sigh of relief.  
“Sorry,” he added, moving to the helm. “I’ve got to get us moving offworld. We’ve already been here too long.” 

“Why don’t I take a turn?” she offered. She felt Din’s panic as he turned to her. A dense silence passed between them before Senn smiled slyly. “I’m kidding,” she teased.  
After a moment, the Mandalorian released an incredulous noise--almost a chuckle--before taking his seat. The sound made her heart leap. 

“How are you feeling?” Senn asked as she rose and pulled a large knit sweater over her shoulders, suddenly somewhat self conscious.  
“Better, thank you,” he answered quickly. “Woke up and added another layer of bacta spray. Should do the trick.”  
“You lost a lot of blood. I’m a universal donor. If you’re not going anywhere for awhile, I’ll get a line started.” Senn spoke firmly as she began rooting through the ship's first aid kit again.  
“I’ll be fine,”  
“I’m sure that attitude gets you out of trouble a lot, but it won’t keep you from passing out at the helm from hypovolemic shock. I can hear it in your breathing, you’ve lost too much fluid.”  
He was silent.  
“And since I know I can’t stop you from doing your job to lie down with your feet elevated, this is the next best thing.” Senn concluded in a calm voice.  
“Alright,” he murmured. “Let me just get us into hyperspace first.” 

Senn made her way over to the first passenger chair with the kit and strapped herself in. 

A few minutes later, the ship broke the atmosphere and Senn felt her insides temporarily shift as the cruiser jumped into lightspeed. After a few seconds, the ship’s occupants adjusted to the new state, and began to unbuckle. Senn opened the kit and began assembling the necessary pieces for a quick transfusion. 

Din shamelessly watched her work. Her gaze was locked on the porthole ahead, as if transfixed by the darting blue light of hyperspeed, while her hands worked as quick and clever as anything. Her injured hand was still somewhat discoloured with blue bruising, but it was almost completely healed. Her hair was tousled from sleep, her long neck illuminated by the dim light of the cockpit. He watched the tiny flutter of her pulse just under her jaw. 

Din was fascinated by this sensation. He wore almost no beskar, yet this woman couldn’t see his face. Would never ask. Would never get the chance. He felt exposed, naked, yet completely secure. It was as disturbing as it was intoxicating. He settled on bizarre. 

When Senn had fully assembled the line, she ran the needle up into her right hand and, still staring out at the thick plexiglass, reached for Din’s arm. He met her halfway, gently taking her hand and guiding it to the inside of his elbow. He rolled the sleeve up and let her feel around for his vien, watching her face.  
Din fought a smile as he watched her hands tremble ever so slightly. Her fingers felt warm and soft as she moved one hand around behind his elbow, wiped a cotton swab with disinfectant over the vein, and gently pushed the feeder needle under his skin.  
She repeated the same steps with her own left arm, hanging the bloodbag up behind the two chairs so it sat slightly elevated between them.  
She activated the line and carefully taped the needle in his arm down securely. Her eyes locked onto the space a few inches beside his head. She could’ve looked right at his face if she wanted to, he thought, just as she had before. 

“I don’t suppose you got any leads on Belmund while you were gone?” Senn asked.  
“I did actually,” Din answered. His breath moved her hair. That was a sensation Senn knew she’d have to completely nullify before she started to enjoy it.  
“My contact told me about a spot some of Belmund’s goons like to squat in the outer rim. It’s a good lead,”  
“How much did that cost you?” Senn scoffed.  
“A few thousand credits,” 

Senn’s hands paused. Din looked directly into her pale eyes. The operative seemed to gather herself.  
“That’s quite a sum,” she commented, trying to remain casual.  
“It was worth it.” 

Senn sat back in the passenger chair and tried to relax as she felt the transparent line warming with the movement of her blood. Long minutes passed between the two bodies. The whirr of the craft’s engine and the occasional creek of pushing through hyperspace the only dialogue.  
They were both very still. 

“You haven’t asked about the helmet,” Din suddenly said quietly.  
“You haven’t asked how I lost my sight,” Senn returned. Perhaps a little too quickly. 

The silence returned, heavier and more oppressive than ever.

“Thank you, Din.” she whispered.  
They both seemed to know what she meant. 

After a few more long minutes, Senn reached up to test the bag. Feeling it was almost full, she disengaged her side, wrapped up the line, and placed a small bandage at the crook of her elbow. 

“How long till we’re planetside?” Senn asked, gathering her supplies.  
“Eight hours or so,”  
“I’m going to get cleaned up and get some more rest,” she declared.  
“Bunk’s yours.” 

Senn opened her mouth to protest, but thought better of it. She nodded and retreated from the cockpit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stay tuned for some major smut in this next chapter, my darlings!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NSFW!
> 
> All aboard the smut train!

Din was no stranger to sex and women, but his experiences (aside from his own company) were limited to the frantic, stolen adolescent moments of his youth. Frottage and nearly fully clothed sessions of penetration in dark corners, hasty and desperate, never to be revisited or discussed again. But this bizarre closeness, intimacy he had stumbled onto with Senn was an entirely new animal.  
While his helmet amplified his senses that were best for hunting, it hindered others. His sense of smell and the subtle sounds of passive life. Now, the smallest details were suddenly compounded by a barrage of tactile sensations his mind and body had nearly forgotten about. Simply by being the presence of another without his helmet. 

Senn saturated him. Her scent filled his head, her warmth spread over his skin, her voice reverberated in his unshielded ears, and the eerie intensity of her eyes--though they saw nothing--permeated his own. Stars, even her blood was in his veins now. He supposed his experiences with Grogu had contributed to his new emboldened judgement across this subject, but it ate at him unlike any other distraction he’d ever known. 

His mind wandered as he stared out into the blue rush of hyperspace. The muffled sound of running water echoed up from the refresher. Din wondered. He wondered if other men had touched Senn in certain ways his mind presented to him at the prompt of that running water. His trousers suddenly felt constricting and he rolled his shoulders, willing such thoughts aside.

* * *

'He doesn’t want me', Senn repeated to herself as she dried and dressed. He’s taken me on as cargo for the sake of a friend. Cargo. That’s what disabled creatures are, aren’t they? Just because he isn’t wearing that beskar doesn’t mean you’ve passed some test. It’s a convenience. 

'He told you his name', another voice whispered.  
Senn turned those words over in her mind, cherishing them for a moment, before shutting them down too. You saved his life. It’s his way of saying thank you. Pull yourself together. 

Dressed and damp, Senn stepped out of the refresher, her mind now set on throwing some food together before her nap. Her body likely needed it after donating a pint of blood.  
Senn startled inwardly when she felt Din’s presence.

“Sorry,” he managed. His voice was low. He sat on the edge of the cot, feet planted firmly on the corridor floor.

“I was just going to get some food. Can I grab anything for you while I’m in the mess?” Senn asked, gathering herself. She squeezed her wet hair with the towel she still held. The Mandalorian didn’t answer her. She was sure he’d heard her question.

“Din?” she tried. 

Still, there was no answer from the man as he sat there, still as the ship itself. Senn grew concerned. Had he gone into shock after all? Were his injuries worsening? 

“Are you alright?” she pressed, moving toward the bunk cautiously. He could hear her. He could see her. She was positive. Senn had never felt so exposed as she did suddenly in this moment as Din unabashedly stared at her. 

Her concern grew as she stepped closer. She raised her hand, looking for the door frame to ground herself, but it was captured by another warm hand, broad and worn with calluses. Senn’s breath caught in her chest as the Mandalorian caressed her hand in both his own and drew her closer.  
She didn’t dare breathe as she felt herself being gently pulled squarely in front of him. He moved his hands to her hips and, after a moment, leaned forward and pressed his forehead to her abdomen. Senn dropped the towel and shivered as she felt him inhale deeply through his nose and sigh. 

Cautiously, Senn slowly brought her hands up and placed them on his shoulders in an accepting gesture. He was broad and firm, even without his armour. She felt his deep breaths beneath her palms as his back rose and fell--almost mournfully slow. Senn instinctively drew her hands closer together over his shoulders. When he didn’t protest, she passed her fingers over his neck and up the back of his head. His hair was short, but wavy and thick. Not what she was expecting. She couldn’t help but fight a smile.

The Mandalorian’s head finally lifted, slowly tilting back to look up at her. Senn smiled timidly as she ran one hand through his hair from front to back. His left hand slipped from her hip and to catch hers. For one terrifying moment Senn feared she had gone too far, but Din slowly pressed her fingers to his cheek. 

Senn gasped, her mouth falling open freely. She suddenly felt the creases of a small smile under a layer of stubble, and her insides melted. Emboldened and stirred by his sudden gesture, she began to slowly explore his features. A strong, square jaw, a sharp, hawk-like nose, a dimple between his firm brows, a touch of crows’ feet astride gently slanting eyes, long lashes, and...Senn dared herself to pass one thumb over his lips. Din closed his eyes, and leaned into her light touch, taking the tip of her thumb between his teeth. 

Senn couldn’t suppress the shaking breath that escaped her throat. Din suddenly stood, grasping her waist and pressing her body flush with his own. His breath came quickly now, nervous and hot against her nose and lips as he looked down into her cloudy eyes.

“Tell me to stop,” he whispered. Senn slowly shook her head, mouth agape and all but quivering in his arms.  
“Tell me to stop now, or...I won’t be able to,” he repeated, his tone urgent and sober. Senn simply gazed up into the space between their eyes with a firm conviction and bit her lip.

A dam burst inside of him. 

“Gota'la gaa'tayl ni,” [maker, save me] he breathed, before pressing his lips to hers. 

His breath came in hitched waves as he reveled in the feel of Senn’s mouth moving in tandem with his own. It was almost too much. His kiss was soft and cautious at first, but the longer the Mandalorian spent swimming in the sensation--so very close, personal, and warm--the more desperate and fierce his movements became. He needed more. He was snowballing down a recklessly steep escarpment, long denied to him. His hands roamed her back, clutching the fabric of her tunic. Din drank her in with an aching, reckless need he didn’t know lay beneath his skin. He was surprised when Senn cautiously prodded his lips with her tongue, but he instantly responded with untampered enthusiasm. 

His hands roamed. Senn melted into his grasp as he completely overtook her in a fit of restrained desires--suddenly released. She shivered as one large hand moved up her back, her neck, and slipped thick fingers through her hair, pressing her even closer to him as if desperate never to leave space between their two bodies again. The other hand snaked around her waist, almost lifting her off the floor. He kissed her with the enthusiasm and stamina of a youth, green and guileless in the throws of clumsy pubescent passion. His breath was laboured, passing frantically through his nose and mouth. A part of her wondered if he’d ever been at liberty to kiss someone like this. But she couldn’t get enough of it. His mouth was warm, strong, comforting, and oh, so satisfying. 

Senn took the opportunity to shamelessly explore his body. She roamed over his torso and back with her sensitive fingertips. He wore a light canvas shirt under what felt like the dry thermal layer of his armour. She deftly slipped between the thick panels built to cushion the beskar. He was broad and powerful, a warrior. But when she passed the pads of her thumbs over his eyes, brow, and jaw, she felt the warm features of a man starved for connection and touch.

An unmistakable firmness grew and pressed against her abdomen, sending shivers of warmth down into her core. Daring herself, Senn traced one hand down his torso and over his belt to drift gently across the hardening bulk. The strained moan that vibrated up from his throat into her mouth sounded almost painful, and his whole body jerked. 

“I’m sorry,” she spoke quickly, breaking away from the kiss. “Is it too much?”  
“No,” Din huffed out, pressing his brow to hers. “It’s just been a while.”  
“I understand,” she said softly. “What do you need?”  
“I need you. All of you, if you’ll have me.”  
“Yes,”  
“I’m just...out of practice,” he smiled. 

Senn nodded her understanding and took his face in her hands. He exhaled with a shiver. He leaned heavily into her touch, turned, kissed the inside of her wrist, and spoke hesitantly.

“I...it’s never been like this. I don’t know how to take care of you the way I want…”  
“There’s time,” Senn whispered, stroking back his hair. “But, I hope you’ll let me take care of you too...” 

Din stared down into the white veil of her eyes and tried uselessly to form words as he watched her bring one of his hands to her lips, take two thick fingers into her mouth, and suck.  
The Mandalorian’s eyes widened and he released a string of colourful Mando’a profanities in a strangled voice.

Din’s eyes instantly brightened with reinvigorated hunger, and he crushed her lip with his own once more, his tongue eagerly dancing with hers. Senn’s hands left him for the fastening on the side of her tunic. He watched her seamless movements, intoxicated.  
A few moments later, the long garment fell to the floor, leaving Senn standing before him in nothing but her boots and leggings. Those same dark freckles danced across her chest and shoulders. Din wanted to find and kiss every last one. Her skin felt impossibly soft beneath his rough fingertips as he brushed up her arms, over her shoulders, around her scar, down her neck, and over her breasts. She inhaled sharply as he passed over her nipples on his way down to her stomach, navel, and hips. 

“You’re beautiful, Senn...I wish...you could--,”  
Her fingers pressed gently to his lips.  
“It’s okay,” she whispered. “I’m happy.” 

Din nodded his understanding and lowered his head to kiss her neck, trailing a damp path over her collarbones all the way up behind her ears. He inhaled deeply through his nose when he reached her hairline. Her scent--that herbed soap mingled with her feminine sex made his knees weak. 

“Din?” He paused. “Have you ever received oral sex?”

The Mandalorian’s mouth went dry. He was familiar with the act, but…

Senn masked a smile as she felt him flounder for words. 

“May I?” she asked quietly. He nodded, paralyzed by her boldness, and completely forgetting himself. She waited.  
“Yes,” he finally uttered, his voice cracking. Senn took him by the shoulders and circled until she stood at the end of the low cot. She heard him swallow hard as she sat, her hands sliding down his hips, and beginning to unfasten his belt and trousers. Senn felt a rush of pride and thrill as she once again passed her hand over his straining arousal, a strangled huff shuddering Din’s whole body. The sound stimulated a new wave of damp between her legs. 

“Tell me if it’s too much,” she said low. She then proceeded to free him from his trousers, wrapping once hand carefully around his pleasing length. He was more than ready for her, his engorged shaft quivering with beads of precum. Senn relished the weight and feel of him in her hand. Hands, she decided. She gave him one long stroke from base to tip.  
He groaned and gasped in the same breath, but before he could gather himself, he felt Senn take his head into her mouth. 

He choked on a half-curse. Senn released him and waited a moment before spreading the wetness from her mouth down his shaft with her hands.  
This time he let out a long, slow moan as his length pulsed with need. Smiling, Senn reclaimed him, taking him into her mouth to the hilt.  
Din’s upper body lurched forward, and he gripped the door frame with both hands, knuckles white and trembling. Encouraged, Senn proceeded to work him slowly, sucking gently, and passing her tongue firmly along the bottom of his shaft. By the time she added her hands again, he was huffing short breaths through clenched teeth. The sounds coming from him made her ache. 

Senn had barely released him when he suddenly bent down, lifted her up beneath her arms, grabbed her behind the thighs, picked her up, and crushed her body between himself and the wall. She instantly wrapped her legs around his hips and returned his kiss with mirth. 

“Do you know how long I’ve wanted to do this?” Din whispered, breathy and hot into her mouth.  
“Tell me,”  
“Since you had the gall to tease Cara with a massive wound on your neck,” he smiled as he watched Senn’s face, his deep brown eyes darting back and forth over her face.  
She was truly touched.  
“Take me,” she whispered. “Din. Take me...Please,”  
The Mandalorian groaned into her mouth as he captured her lips once more, grinding against her, and pressing her harder into the wall. 

Senn let out a gasp of pain. Din nearly dropped her. 

“Senn, I’m so sorry. Your back,” he faltered, setting her down gently. He tucked himself back into his trousers and turned her around to examine the burn.  
“Sorry, I’m alright. Still just a bit tender I guess,” she stammered, suddenly cold. Senn felt Din’s brow come to rest on the nape of her neck.  
“We can stop,” he murmured. Senn turned to face him again.  
“Din,” she returned. “I...”  
The Mandalorian all but melted each time she said his name.  
“I don’t want to hurt you,” he breathed, pushing the hair back from either side of her face. 

Suddenly, the floor lurched violently as the craft was thrown out of hyperspace. Senn and Din were both suddenly thrown against the far wall as the recoil shifted everything from the loose objects around them to their very organs. The cruiser’s stability alarm screamed into the filtered air. 

“Strap into the bunk!” Din shouted as he gripped Senn’s shoulders and shoved her toward the cubby, “I’ll see what’s going on!” He ascended the ladder as quickly as possible amidst the brutal shifts in gravity.

“Be careful!” Senn cried out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm wicked, I know...I promise there's more to come!


	7. Chapter 7

Senn did as she was told before climbing back into her tunic and adjusting the blaster on her belt. Din’s voice echoed in over the intercom a moment later. 

“Someone’s pulled us out of hyperspace with a gravity well engine,” he was out of breath. “I think--,”  
The intercom cut out as Senn felt the ship power down. The Mandalorian released a string of curses as the lights flickered out and the red glow of the emergency power system flickered online.  
Din left the cockpit, slid down the ladder, and dove for the bunk.  
“Are you alright?” he asked, grabbing his helmet and chestplate.  
“I’m fine. What’s going on?”  
“I’m not sure yet. I think we’ve been hijacked. Stay here.”

He was gone before Senn could protest. 

Fully armoured and prepared for a firefight, the Mandalorian readied a slew of weapons and stood menacingly before the loading ramp. The familiar sounds of a docking sequence rang outside the ship's walls, harsh and angry.

Senn waited, her own rapid pulse flooding her ears. 

“Sennisab Gann.” a calm, sinister voice suddenly blared. Senn flinched violently.  
“You are hereby ordered to disembark and surrender on penalty of death. Should you choose to cooperate, your allies and associates will be spared. You have three minutes to comply.”  
Senn shivered. It was the Grin. It was Raines. 

Gathering her strength, the operative stood and made her way toward the loading dock. Din confronted her in the corridor. 

“Where do you think you’re going?” he asked, holstering his blaster and firmly holding her shoulders.  
“It’s alright. I know what he wants,” Senn spoke softly. “He’s not bluffing. They’ll kill you if I don’t go. And they can.”  
“You’re staying right here,”  
“No, you have to trust me. It’s the Grin.”

Din stopped short. The Grin was a juvenile story fledgling Guild members would use as a fantastical threat of violent resolution. The organization was supposedly responsible for the extermination of the first generation of the Hutt cartel. 

“The Grin? You’re joking. They’re a fairy tale,” he started.  
“I wish,” Senn smiled weakly. “When I first joined the rebellion, I went undercover with their operation to track down a rather high-profile war profiteer who’d slipped from the system when things got hairy for his imperial stakeholders. He thought I was dead, but if Belmund put the word out, he’d be the first to take to it.”  
“Who is he?” Din pressed.  
“Gareth Raines,” Senn murmured.  
“Gareth Raines? You ran with The Hellion Broker?”  
“I infiltrated and brought down his inner circle just before the Death Star...well most of them. Belmund had a good lead on one.” Senn explained, looking a little frustrated. Din’s helmet tilted forward.  
“Before the Death Star? That’s almost 10 years ago now.”  
“Yes,”  
“Why does Raines want you so badly?”  
“Because I killed his brother.”  
The Mandalorian let his hands slide from Senn’s shoulders. She knew Din would know better than to ask why, but she offered him her hand and voiced her thoughts as quickly as she could muster.  
“His brother, Henrik, and I were in the same accident, but he didn’t walk away as easily. We were close. He asked me to end his life, so I did. After I was outed as a rebel agent, Raines was convinced I’d murdered him. I’d killed men when I had to, but…”  
Din took both of her hands. 

“I have to go. And you have to trust me.” Senn spoke softly, looking up into the black visor.  
“No. I told Dune I would keep you safe,”  
“And you will. But you have to let me do this,” Senn pleaded. “If I know Raines, he’s already lined this ship with charges. He may be a fascist murderer, but he never bluffs.”  
“No.”  
“Hey...”  
Senn placed her hands on either side of the helmet.  
“Din. Trust. Me.” her tone and the look she gave him hit with a meaning beyond her words. Her eyes conveyed a gleam of something hidden. Din turned it carefully over in his mind for a moment until he finally let her go.  
“I’ve got your back,” he whispered.  
Senn nodded and quickly moved to the ramp release. Din took cover behind one of the crates and readied his rifle. 

Senn hit the port lock, walked steadily down the slanted metal as it slowly lowered, and stepped into a mobile freighter launch bay. 

“Behind every locked door…” a threatening male voice echoed around her.  
“...Is a wink and a Grin.” Senn spat in return.  
“It’s been a long time...Hazel,” a bald, white-bearded man in a dark blue formal uniform stepped out of the shadows and smiled warmly. Din counted a detail of six armed guards on either side of the dock. They wore the same uniform with dark armoured plating.

“Hazel was a name I used to poke holes in your sick little schemes. It means nothing to me now.” Senn scowled.  
“We’ll see.” the man smiled again as he tilted his head to study the operative’s face. “So that’s what I took from you in the end,” he laughed. “The spy who sees nothing.” 

Senn swallowed hard. Din’s grip tightened on his rifle. 

“What do you want, Gareth?”  
“Oh, nothing I’m sure Belmund can’t deliver. I’ve requested special access to your...reconditioning...when I bring you in. He’s a very generous man.” 

Din breathed heavily, a panicked rage building in his bones.

“I have to say, it’s good to see you after all these years. You’ve done well for yourself, despite your...infirmity, I’m sure?” Raines taunted. 

Senn took a few more steps forward before she sank to her heels and sat, legs crossed, hands on her knees. Raines and Din both frowned in their respective positions. Senn closed her eyes and breathed deeply, her face serene and settled in a deep void of concentration. 

“I know you’re afraid!” she shouted into the space around her. Her eyes remained closed. “I know you’re suffering, and I know you feel as if you have no choice. If you find the strength, I will fight with you. Here. Now.”

Long, silent moments passed. Raines slowly smiled again, realised a low chuckle, and approached Senn, looking down on her with a condescending display of pity. 

“Come now, Senn. Don’t embarrass yourself like this again. My men--,” Raines stopped short as two of the armed guards standing on his left flank slowly stepped forward from their posts. 

Senn placed one hand behind her back and displayed three fingers. Din inhaled sharply. 

Two fingers. He braced himself. 

One finger. 

Raines drew his blaster and pointed it at Senn’s head, but before he could pull the trigger, Senn grabbed his arm, swung herself up around his torso and twisted until she brought him to the ground--one leg behind his head, one holding his other arm in a painful looking lock. 

The Mandalorian darted out of cover and fired three shots at the right flank, hitting two guards straight on and disabling another. 

The others opened fire. Senn shot one with Raines’ gun as she lay tangled in the old man’s limbs, before flipping him over to use him as cover while she drew her own blaster and fired four more shots. Four guards crumpled against the floor. 

The two guards who had stepped forward turned their blasters on the others, bringing three more down before one was thrown to the ground, a laser burn taking a chunk out of his shoulder. 

Senn spun herself back onto her feet and strode forward without hesitation, firing one shot through a helmet and one through a sternum. 

All was silent for a moment as Senn took one long, slow breath before turning to face the Death Merchant, struggling to breathe on the floor of the cargo bay. 

“Bitch!” he spat, blood flying. “How did you--,”  
“It’s been 10 years, Gareth. I’m not a little girl anymore,” Senn spoke calmly as she approached.  
Din had sprinted from the ship and kicked the man’s blaster far from the scene before training his rifle on the warlord. 

“I know who my friends are,” she said, looking at the Mandalorian’s helmet. “That was always your problem, wasn’t it?”  
“I wonder if Henrik thought the same thing before you murdered him,” Raines struggled out. The pool of blood beneath him grew.  
“Henrik asked me to kill him,” Senn’s white eyes filled with quiet rage. “You don’t have to.” she finished before firing one last shot into Raines' skull. 

Din raised his eyes slowly. Senn’s face suddenly drained and she became ashy pale as her rage faded. Without another word, she dropped the blaster and collapsed heavily to the floor, unconscious.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Much NSFW ahead! Enjoy!

The remaining guard dropped his blaster and backed away from the scene, horrified. 

“She…” he struggled, unable to articulate any further as he stared at Senn’s limp body.  
The Mandalorian swung his rifle onto his back, dropped to the floor, and cradled Senn’s head as he looked her over for injuries. The man lingered in a state of shock. 

“Get out of here!” Din shouted at him. The guard startled out of his stupor and bolted for the exit.  
With that, the Mandalorian lifted Senn into his arms and rushed back up into his ship. After strapping her safely into the bunk, he bolted for the cockpit and prepped for hyperspeed. A deafening alarm burst through the air just as the landing gear retracted and the cruiser glided steadily through the blue atmosphere gate. Din wrenched on the hyperspeed lever before the ship had even left the freighter’s colonnade proximity, leaving a massive scorch on the object and shifting everything inside from crates to bodies. 

Din was back down in the corridor moments after making the jump, the ship protesting in its own way. He hit the door latch and let out a deep breath when he saw Senn still lying peacefully on the cot. He climbed inside, clumsily throwing his gloves aside and feeling for her pulse and breathing. He swept her over with all the diagnostics his helmet offered. She appeared to be in perfect health, if not still a little dehydrated and exhausted. His chest rose and fell rapidly as he fell back against the side of the bunk with a plethora of questions pounding against him. 

“Din?” Senn inhaled sharply as she came to.  
“Senn!” he practically shouted. “Are you alright? You’re safe.”  
The operative nodded slowly, grimacing as she felt around her environment.  
“You’re in the bunk. We’re back on the ship--at hyperspeed.” 

“What happened?” she murmured.  
“You shot Raines in the head and passed out,” the Mandalorian hesitated. “You...shot... how did you do that? ...Those men. I’ve only ever seen Jedi--,”  
“--I’m not Jedi,” 

Din stopped short, his chest tight. Senn rolled onto her side and struggled to sit up. Din shifted onto his knees to help. She was still pale and held her head in pain. The Mandalorian reached over and turned her face to him, searching for injuries. She closed her eyes and leaned into his touch.  
“I’m sorry. I didn’t have time to explain,” she spoke low. “I...Sometimes I can tap into something. It’s like an energy field. If I concentrate on the way it feels, I can...see--or at least feel, the world around me. I can even sense strong emotions, like fear or grief or joy. It makes me feel strong and at peace. But when I push myself, I become weak again...” Senn trailed off, struggling with the words and clearly self-conscious. “This all must sound insane,” she looked down and shook her head woefully.  
“No,” Din pushed her dark hair out of her eyes. “I’ve seen this sort of thing before, Senn. It’s the Force. And frankly, it’s no more insane than a blind operative who can shoot better than a Mandalorian.”  
Senn could hear the smile in his voice. 

Exhaustion and relief washed over her, and she leaned forward against her companion. Din held her close. An impulse pulled at him, and he reached up to remove his helmet before returning to grasp her tightly. Senn practically whimpered at the gesture. The Mandalorian inhaled her scent deeply. 

“Senn,” he whispered after a few minutes. She couldn’t get enough of the sound of her name in his unfiltered voice. “You should rest.” 

The operative wilted a little against his beskar, but nodded weakly. Din took one of Senn’s hands, pressed her fingers to his lips, and bent until his brow pressed against hers. Senn tilted her head and kissed him. It was a kiss filled with earnest affection as opposed to the ambitious appetite she brandished before.  
“Please stay,” she pleaded.  
“I will,” he nodded, sliding so his body lay flush with hers.  
Senn fell asleep quickly in the crook of his arm. 

The Mandalorian studied her face for what felt like hours. He relished in the feel of her hot breaths against his chin and neck, watched her dark lashes flutter, soaked in the soft sounds of her sleep, the rise and fall of her chest against him...it was enough to make him shiver.  
No woman had ever affected him this way. She had crawled into him, and it both weakened and strengthened him all at once. But after his time traveling with Grogu, it also felt oddly familiar. 

* * *

Din jerked awake at the feeling of nothing pressed against him. He was alone in the bunk. He looked down to find half of his chestplate had been removed, the bandage on his ribs changed and smelling of fresh bacta spray. 

He gathered himself and slipped from the cot. Din reached for his helmet instinctually, but his hand lingered in the air for a moment before dropping back to his side. He closed the bunk door and headed up to the cockpit to check on their progress. 

Senn slouched sideways in the pilot’s chair, knees curled to her chest, fingers idly tracing loose patterns over her leggings. 

“I’ve wanted to kill him for so long,” Senn spoke quietly. Of course she knew he was there. “...and look at me. I feel like I’m 16 again. Still shaking after my first assignment,”

Din moved to the chair and stood close.  
“It’s different when it’s personal,” he murmured. Senn closed her eyes and tilted her head back.  
“Yes, it is,” she idled.

A long couple of minutes passed in the whirring hum of the ship’s path through hyperspace before Senn spoke again.

“I was 23 when I went on assignment with Henrik. We were tasked with bringing in one of the Grin’s stakeholders from the outer rim who’d been getting a little too close to the republic core for Raines’ liking. We found him holed up with his family working in a geothermal energy plant--a wife and two little girls. When he realized what we were there to do, he sealed himself and his family in cytotoxic and vesicant chemical pressurizer and activated the discharge sequence. They died in seconds. The gas blowout caught us off guard though. Henrik saw it coming and pushed me into a ventilator valve while he took the full brunt of the blast. It all but killed him...dissolved his clothes, his hair, most of his skin. By the time I crawled out, he was unrecognizable. He pointed to my blaster, then his head. So I shot him.” Senn narrated her memory in a distant, soft voice. 

“That’s how you lost your sight?” Din asked.  
“Yes,” she nodded. “And I thought, my soul, for a while. Watching those girls be put to death--choose death--because of me.”  
Din’s heart flinched for her.  
“Because of Raines,” he corrected her gently.  
“Yes,” she responded automatically, her gaze fixed on the memory before her. “The last thing you ever see isn’t something a lot of people think about, unless they’re thinking about their own death,” she pondered, her tone distant and contemplative. “But I think about it every day.”

Din moved around the chair and crouched in front of her knees, so she could feel him--his warmth, his attention.  
“I somehow got it into my head that, once Raines was dead, I wouldn’t see it anymore.” 

The right words of comfort swam around in Din’s mind, but none of them seemed sufficient. You’ve done so much good. You see more than anyone I’ve ever known. You don’t have to worry about Raines doing that to anyone ever again. It all fell flat as he stared up into her pale, glazed eyes. Her neck and chest were blotchy with recent emotion, but her expression was calm and serene. 

“What do you see right now?” he asked in a low hum. Senn smiled.  
“I feel a small living space laced with an undercurrent of care, integrity, and solidarity. I sense the outline of the consol, the seams of the walls, and the porthole from the vibrations of hyperspace,” she looked down over his face and smiled. “And the healthy beating heart of a Mandalorian, terrified of what Marshal Cara Dune will do to him when she finds out he’s made love to her childhood friend.”

Din’s dimpled brow jumped at the sudden shift in her tone, but couldn’t stop the smile that slowly spread from his brown eyes to his lips.

Senn suddenly leaned forward, planted her feet on the floor, and drew him into a kiss that quickly escalated into a much fuller embrace. Slowly, she slipped from the chair, letting her legs fall to either side of Din’s lap as he knelt on the floor of the bridge, locked in another precious moment of connection he wasn’t sure he’d ever have. 

The Mandalorian savoured the warm caresses of her mouth against his own. They both danced, taking turns leading the stroke of the tongue, the pressure, the rhythm... When their breathing became short, Senn gently nipped his lower lip and Din once more felt the snapping strands of his restraint. He growled low into her mouth. Senn’s eyes rolled up into her head with ecstasy. She decided she would never get enough of that sound.

His hands began to roam up under her tunic, his deep brown eyes hooded with the sudden rush of lust that came with the sensation of her soft skin beneath his calloused hands. Senn wrapped her legs around him as she continued to deepen their kiss. Din’s hands instantly fell to her hips, round her rear, and hoisted her further up into his lap. Her dark hair curtained his face as he tilted his head up to meet her mouth. Senn once again ran her fingers through his hair. Din shivered at the feeling. Even this--being touched even so chastely--was almost overwhelming. Sensing his struggle, Senn paused their ramping stimulus for some softer contact.  
She cupped his face with her hands, gently running one thumb over his lips, his cheekbones, his chin, his jawline. She traced his hairline with her slender fingertips, down over his ears. He shivered again when she reached the sensitive skin behind his ears and down the fluttering pulse along his neck. She smiled, mapping his face even more. She gently stroked his brow, traced the sides of his nose, the messy stubble along his cheeks, finally returning to his jaw. She found she was especially fond of his jaw and chin, square, strong, yet so telling.  
After so many years beneath the helmet, it was no wonder he had trouble controlling or checking the emotions that surfaced on his face. He’d never had any need to train himself otherwise. As dangerous a man as he was, he all but fell to pieces beneath her hands. Senn felt pathetically proud at the notion, even if she didn’t get to really see it. She felt it. That was enough. 

Din was completely enthralled. Her touch, her scent, her patient awareness...all intoxicated him. He stared up into her attentive, foggy eyes and her softened, pink lips through his own languid brown gape--layered with appetite--as she studied his face with her fingers.

Slowly, another sensation dawned on the Mandalorian and his grip on Senn’s hips tightened aggressively. He could suddenly smell the sweet, musty scent of her sex--suddenly aroused and damp. This stirred something dangerous--something feral--in him, and his hips bucked involuntarily as she kissed him again. His stiffening crotch felt the hot, humid touch of her as he desperately pressed her to him. He needed to feel it, he needed to know exactly what he’d done to her. 

“Senn,” he breathed heavily. “Stand up for me.”  
She did, and he followed, grasping her hard and diving in for another kiss. He leaned heavily into her until she was pressed against the consol. Din lay bold kisses all over her neck, his teeth scraping her flesh, and he inhaled her scent deeply as he dragged one hand down her body to the top of her belt. His movements were slowly becoming more clumsy, more desperate, as he fumbled with the buckle, ripped the leather strap from her hips, and tossed it on the floor of the bridge. Senn released a gratifying noise. Din’s body responded, the tightness of his erection making his whole body ache.  
His hand finally disappeared into her leggings and Senn gasped as he palmed her. Din’s eyes widened at the accumulation of slick moisture...just from this. 

“This…” he struggled out, his breath stolen away. “This is for me.” It was half a question, half disbelieving affirmation. Senn opened her eyes and did her best to meet his own.  
“Yes,” she whispered.  
“Just from…” he trailed off. Senn nodded. They both knew what he was referring to.  
A low, guttural, breathy sound of utter aching need escaped his chest as the Mandalorian suddenly removed the hand and brought it straight to his mouth. He sucked her juices greedily from his fingers before fully descending on her, wrenching her leggings down just enough to expose her and run his tongue along her clit. Senn arched her back, startled, but delighted. Din’s enthusiasm was almost as pleasurable as anything else. 

He sealed his lips against her sex and threw her legs over his cool beskar shoulders, lifting her hips, and moaning deep into her--sending vibrations into her torso. He had done this before...Senn thought. And why not? She couldn’t see his face from his angle, even if she had her eyes.  
Din gently sucked and lapped at her, his tongue stroking her folds and darting in and out of her warm entrance. She dripped down his chin into his stubble. The Mandalorian utterly staggered at the sensation. He wished Senn could see his eyes as he savoured her taste. He breathed raggedly through his nose, her feminine scent all but undoing him right then and there. Each time his throat made an involuntary sound of pleasure, reverberating into her, Senn climbed higher and higher. Her knuckles grew white as she clutched the edges of the console and fought for breath.  
Din slipped a finger inside her as he worked her with his mouth, and Senn cried out, shuttering and clinging to the precious bit of friction. 

“Din,” Senn breathed. Hearing his name articulated, no--struggling to be articulated--in such a tone, tossed him into a new level of desperate hunger. He stopped abruptly, unhooked her legs from his shoulders, and fiercely lifted her back up to stand flush with him. Senn’s legs wobbled beneath her as she exchanged intense breaths with her Mandalorian. 

“Tell me to stop,” he huffed, before crushing her lips with his own again. He ravaged her mouth with new enthusiasm, his hand gripping her hair, tongue plundering all that was left of her mind.  
“No,” she whispered between frantic breaths. Her leggings had rolled back up over her pubic bone, but she could still feel Din’s hard length dragging across her swollen clit, even through their layers.  
“I won’t be able to st--” Din was cut off, breath hitching, as Senn reached down and stroked him firmly through his trousers.  
“I know,” she breathed, nipping at his stubbled chin. His mouth went dry and he leaned into her touch, his head collapsing and rolling against her neck.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the old nest of blankets Senn had arranged when she’d slept on deck. He instantly stooped, hoisted the operative up into his arms, and moved over to the suddenly very inviting mess of linens. Senn wrapped her legs around him and tangled her fingers in his hair as she continued to kiss him vigorously. She loved being so easily maneuvered by his strength.  
This time, Din was careful not to slam her against the wall (as much as he wanted to) still unsure how much her back had healed. Instead, he sank, one armoured knee at a time, into the soft heap of blankets and lay her down beneath him--never breaking their kiss. 

Senn’s hands flew to his side and fumbled for the armour straps there. Understanding, Din rose, sitting on his heels, Senn restless between his thighs, and quickly unfastened the chestplate. It hit the floor of the deck with a piercing resonance and was followed quickly by his pauldrons, bracers, and leg plates. He returned to his attention to Senn’s lips as he kicked off his boots. Senn was already climbing out of her tunic again, her breasts springing from their confinement beautifully. 

Din instinctively buried his face in her sternum, inhaling her scent again and again as he kissed his way across her chest. The feel of her racing heartbeat tapping against the skin of his cheek and neck roused him again, and he groaned against her ribs, digging his fingers into her wherever he could find purchase. His hands roamed, overwhelmed with bounty. With one hand he reached up and caressed her jaw, down her neck, her throat; with the other, he kneaded her breast with carefully tempered pressure. Senn bucked into his touch with the whisper of a moan. Din responded by lunging up her torso and taking her nipple into his mouth. Senn let out a soft cry as he ran his tongue over the straining bud again and again. He palmed her damp crotch again as he savoured the weight of her breast in his mouth, spurred on by the silk noises of encouragement she made. He loved them so much, he reached up to her mouth with his free hand and gently dragged his thick fingers over her bottom lip and jaw, silently advocating for more. 

Senn gladly obliged, thrilled by his attention to such a detail.  
“Din,” she panted, once more hitching her hips into his touch. Everything he was doing to her intensified at her vocalization.  
“Din,” she mewled again. The Mandalorian growled in a stifled huff against her skin. Senn smiled wickedly at the power she now cherished. He rose back up her body, kissing her chin, her jaw, and sealing his lips over hers again in a desperate expression of need.

Senn gripped the bottom of his thermal layer shirt and yanked it up toward his head. His warm skin was surprisingly soft, but firm, articulated muscles defined his back as she raked her hands over him. She felt a wide variety of scars here and there, and made a silent promise to herself to one day soon attend to each of them personally with her mouth. 

As soon as he broke away from the kiss to slide the rest of the shirt from his arms and head, Senn lunged for his belt. Her nimble fingers worked it quickly, his hands joining hers after a moment to assist. A line of soft, curly hair guided her from his navel to the top of his trousers, where she planted soft kisses while running her hands over his naked torso. Stars, he was beautiful. Din’s breathing broke into uneven strides again as he reached down and unfastened the top of his trousers.  
But before Senn could begin to enjoy what strained against the fabric there, he pressed her back down to the blankets and yanked her leggings down her hips. She lifted for him and he dragged them down her legs until he could seal his mouth over her glistening mound once more. He helped her kick the last of the fabric from her feet while he devoured her, his teeth gently grazing her most sensitive places. Senn gasped and her hands instinctually gripped his hair. She spread her legs and lifted her hips for him, which he took full advantage of.  
He felt drunk off of her. Her scent, her soft moans, her slick desire coating his lips and chin. He snaked one arm beneath her hips, so she could rest at the best angle for him, and pushed one, then two fingers into her slit gently.  
Senn let out a shuddering moan that once again ended in his name. As much as he wanted to undo her before allowing himself the privilege, he couldn’t contain himself anymore. 

He withdrew his hand from her, grasped his own length, and pumped himself once as he made his way back up to her throat and lips. He surprised himself as he bit her neck and jaw with a carnal impulse before retaking her mouth in a reckless demonstration of need.  
He angled the head of his pulsating cock between her folds and looked up into her hazy eyes for her permission. Senn gave it by wrapping her legs around his hips and tugging him closer--inside her.  
Senn gasped blissfully and Din released a strangled cry from deep within his chest. He trembled as he sank deeper into her, pressing his forehead to hers and groaning between his teeth. It was Senn’s turn to lose control of her breathing as he deftly drove into her slick warmth until he was sheathed to the hilt. He filled her completely, gently stretching her walls and stimulating every nerve, the feeling of being full, complete, spreading to every one of Senn’s limbs and digits like fire.  
He fumbled and found her hands, clutched them, weaving his fingers between hers and steadying himself as she adjusted to him. And she needed to adjust to him. She was seeing stars. 

“Breathe, cyar'ika,” [beloved] Din murmured into her mouth. He didn’t dare move yet. Their chests rose and fell frantically as their bodies harmonized.  
Senn loosed an exquisite string of curses, rolling her head and arching her back until Din’s brow rested on her chin. Even that small shift threatened to undo him right there. He couldn’t bear the thought of ending it now. He concentrated on the flicker of her heartbeat, the freckles on her neck.  
He pulsed frantically inside her, every instinct telling him to move. Senn bucked her hips, pushing another choked grunt through Din’s clenched teeth.  
“Senn,” he breathed. “I won’t last long.”  
“I’m not asking you to, ner cabur,” [my protector] she returned. 

Din’s eyes widened, darkened with sudden shock and carnal lust as the mando’a phrase slipped from Senn’s swollen lips.  
His hips instantly thrust into her with new resolve. Senn keened up to meet him, her eyes tight with pleasure that bordered on pain. The Mandalorian felt the last strand of his self-control snap as Senn cried out with his name. 

He thrust into her again, unrelenting and fierce. Again. Again. His pace quickened with every new sound that careened from Senn’s lungs. He gripped her wrists and pinned them above her head as he plunged in and out of her, working her into a beautiful submission he didn’t know he needed so badly until this moment. He stared at her with terrible intensity, drinking in her every expression; every breath that was pushed from her lungs with his thrusts, every shiver and bounce of her breasts, and every bead of sweat that began to form on her brow and chest. 

His movements grew even more frantic, more animalistic, as he chased his pleasure and watched Senn unravel in his arms. He found himself lifting her by the small of her back and behind her neck, just to feel more of her, hold more of her, control her pleasure. 

His breath was becoming just as ragged and strained as her own now, and he knew he wouldn’t last much longer. His thrusts slowed again and he captured Senn’s mouth with his own. 

“Come for me, Senn,” he breathed, adjusting so his angle also stroked her clit. Senn’s voice broke in a shuddering whine.  
“Come for me, cyar'ika,” he moaned into her mouth, his tongue stroking her lips as she struggled to return the kiss through her mounting pleasure.  
“Open your eyes,” Din commanded tenderly through his bated breaths. “I want to watch.” 

Senn suddenly completely ceased to breathe as his words and their meaning came to rest in her mind and body as he thrust up into her faster and faster. Her climax snuck up on her like sudden thunder through the thick rain curtain of his sudden words muffling every other thought or sound in her world.  
Senn all but screamed as she was hit with wave after wave of her orgasm. For a moment she was both blind and deaf as her world blurred and bled into a blissful ocean of satisfaction and warmth.  
Din followed almost instantly, crying out in a series of hoarse, guttural moans and gasps as he filled her.  
“Senn…,” he huffed out, desperate to ride out both their orgasms until their bodies were wrung like rags. 

They collapsed onto the blankets as one cohesive shape, panting and damp, in the fog of their act. Din instantly wrapped all his limbs around Senn, pulling her as far into him as she would go without smothering her.  
Mandalorian and operative lay tangled together, catching their breath for long minutes and basking in the glow of their union.  
Finally, Senn moved to run her hands through Din’s hair again. Looking up at him, she poured all the affection she could muster into the place his eyes would be. His breath moved her hair. 

“You really think Cara’s going to kill me?” Din teased suddenly. Senn laughed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been getting some messages altering me to my poor spelling: "armour", "colour", "honour", etc.   
> Thank you all for taking the time, but I'm Canadian! That's just how we spell those words here! ;P


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Some mild violence and gore ahead

Operative and Mandalorian lay together, entwined and absorbed in a rare barm of intimacy--for both. Senn shared stories of her rather more daring and below board exploits with Cara during the early days of the rebellion. Her induction into the deep cover operative division. Her time with the Grin. She skirted around much of this last bit, but Din was deeply intrigued to learn of their underlying presence at all, as more than just a glamorous rumor. Although the organization didn’t turn out to be the menacing, shadowy puppet master of the war everyone imagined, they certainly had figured out how to profit from it.  
When Senn’s energy began to fade, Din offered up some of his own history--ever wishing to deepen their connection. He told her of his foundling roots. His training. His revelations about the Children of the Watch and the exposure and relocation of his covert clan. She was surprisingly patient. Just happy to listen. None of the questions he usually received from strangers passed over her face as he spoke. Finally, he told her of Grogu. 

“You must miss him,” Senn finally offered.  
“Yes,”  
“But you promised to see him again.”  
“Yes.”  
“You will,”  
Din looked up from the small hand he was stroking in his own.  
“Because you promised. I get the feeling you’ve never broken a promise.”

A sad smile twitched up over the Mandalorian’s lips and into his eyes. He leaned in and kissed her slowly, deeply. Gratitude and tenderness spurring his heart. Senn returned the kiss happily, sensing his sober mood shift between gentle grief and the buzzing, terrifying excitement of true connection. His thoughts suddenly paused and he shifted on his side as he withdrew from their kiss and placed a hand under Senn’s chin.  
“How do you know Mando’a?” he asked. Senn smiled.  
“You’re going to laugh at me,” she sighed. Din smiled. “I don’t really know it. It was really more of a guess. I studied ancient Taung while I was with the academy before the war. It was that or Gunganese.” she smiled, a little embarrassed.  
“It was a good guess,” Din said, stroking her bottom lip with one thumb. 

Hours passed in this way. Their conversation floating in and out of the daze they shared, living in bursts between their deep breaths, deep kisses, and soft voices under the inky black sea of space, easy and peaceful. 

It wasn’t until the proximity alarm sounded out steadily over the consol that Senn realized she had dozed off. Quickly rubbing sleep from her eyes, she rose onto her hip. The Mandalorian was gone, but his heavy cape was draped over her--smelling of warmed leather, blaster residue, and...him. Senn smiled and gathered herself. She dressed quickly, pulled on her boots, and ran her hands through her messy bob of wavy, dark hair. 

She rose and stretched just as she heard the heavy sounds of Din’s steps ascending the ladder--his armour fully fitted once more. 

“How far now?” she asked as he reached the top of the ladder.  
“Half hour or so. How’s your back?” His modulated voice gently pried.  
“Much better. I don’t think I’ll need another dose,”  
“Good,”  
“So where is this place Belmund’s goons supposedly squat?” she asked, squaring herself as she always did before slipping into her work posture.  
“Agamar. The guild has a good presence there, so we should be able to get some quick intel. If Belmund has been there, they’ll know.” Din explained quickly as he retook control of the ship from the autopilot system.  
“If Belmund put the word out...how many of them will be hunting me?” Senn asked hesitantly. She couldn’t bear the thought of remaining on the ship again. “I can’t stay here and wait again.”  
“I think you’re right,” Din began. Senn was pleasantly surprised. “I think it’ll be safer if we stick together, but we’ll have to hide your eyes somehow.”  
Senn nodded.  
“I’ve spent my fair share of missions pretending to have my sight. All we need are some coloured contact lenses.” 

Din smiled beneath the helmet. Senn continued to surprise and impress him.

* * *

They landed and locked down the ship closer to town to avoid suspicion. The Mandalorian returned in less than an hour with the supplies Senn had requested--some fresh clothes and a few options for masking her pale eyes. 

“Again, colours really aren’t my strong suit,” Senn smiled, feeling at the small boxes. She had already changed into the muted grey and brown tunic, trousers, boots, and poncho Din had brought her. The Mandalorian finished adjusting another blaster onto his belt and turned to help her.  
“Use these,” he placed one of the boxes into her palm. “They’re the closest to your own colour.”  
Senn suddenly stopped and looked up into his visor.  
“You can still see some colour?” she breathed, her brows knitting together. Din paused for a moment, wondering if he’s said something wrong.  
“...Yes. The very edges of your irises are green,” he offered. “Like...moss.” 

Senn just nodded after a moment, lost in thought. She glanced down at the box in her hand, as if suddenly seeing it sitting there. She then seemed to regain herself and quickly applied the small glass lenses to her eyes.

“Are they in place?” she asked. Din looked up from calibrating another blaster and nearly jumped. She looked straight at him. The lenses did their job perfectly. It was unnerving.  
“Perfect,” he said. It was eerie, but also difficult to look away. His heart pulled on selfish strings inside him as he tilted his head to examine Senn’s face as she could’ve been. Had it not been for the Grin. 

* * *

The city streets bustled in the midst of the cold morning. Hot foods from dozens of market stalls steamed their faces as a cacophony of crowded voices barked and bartered over goods and gossip. 

“How do we find your fellows?” Senn murmured from beneath the hood of the poncho.  
“They’ll find us.” he answered steadily. “Common. There’s a cantina on the other side of the market. I’m sure there’s someone there I can make contact with, and we’ll grab something for you to eat.”  
Senn nodded. 

The cantina buzzed with voices, even this early. But Senn heard a gradual silence blanket the establishment momentarily as the Mandalorian made his way down the steps. The barkeep approached the two nervously.  
“Anything I can get for you sir? Miss?” he managed.  
“Whatever you’ve got that’s hot and fresh for me,” Senn answered steadily. “Nothing for my companion.” She made sure to rest her gaze exactly where the stout man’s eyes should be. 

When her stew arrived, Senn was sure to keep her eyes on the food as she ate, “watching” her spoon as she lifted each bite to her mouth. Pride swelled in Din’s chest and he smiled beneath his helmet as he watched her show. She knew exactly what she was doing and knew they were being watched.

“Looking for work?” A tall, lanky man with a carefully sculpted red goatee sidled up to their table and flashed the Guild crest on his belt.  
“Information,” the Mandalorian answered shortly. “I’m looking for Belmund.”  
The man scoffed.  
“And I’m looking to stay alive until I retire,” he finished, turning to leave. 

Din placed a neat pile of credits on the table, clinking heavily. The man paused at the heavy metallic sound.  
“Give me something I can work with and there’s more for you,” 

The man turned and considered the Mandalorian’s words for a moment. He looked at Senn, who continued to scoop at the watery stew.  
“And this one?” he leered. “Your whore or your ward?”  
“Hired help,” Din replied evenly.  
“Your whore, then,” the man jeered. The man was testing him. The Mandalorian opened his mouth to reply with a short quip about wasting their time, but Senn was already moving. 

Din had barely blinked before Senn stood, grabbed the man by his duraweave collar, twisted one of his arms behind his back, and slammed him face-first into the table. The operative leaned over him, bracing his legs with her own, and spoke calmly into the man’s ear.  
“My employer has more patience than I do when it comes to poor manners. But today can still be a very good day for you.”  
The man choked out a grunt of pain and struggled to breathe beneath her clever hold. Din tried not to let his surprise show in his posture.  
“You get to keep your life and walk away with some credits for sharing. If you don’t feel like doing that, you get neither.” 

The cantina had fallen silent again.  
“Storehouses,” the man struggled out against the resin tabletop. “If he’s in town, he’d be at the storehouses.”  
“Thank you,” Senn said calmly as she released him. The man slid from the table onto the floor as he struggled to catch his breath and compose himself. The pile of credits had scattered, fanned out across the table. When he righted himself, the man sneered and grabbed at them.  
“Remember what I said about manners,” Senn growled as she continued to eat her stew.

“...Thank you,” the man muttered bitterly before turning and storming out the side exit, tail between his legs. The cantina seemed to return to its normal level of disquiet and chatter. 

Din flushed. He wanted to take her right there on the table, but he was well aware they had a job to do. Senn finished her stew and paid the barkeep. 

* * *

“Aren’t operatives supposed to be subtle?” Din asked as they made their way back through town to the great repository buildings in the industrial district as per the directions of a t’bac salesman. Senn couldn’t tell if he was teasing or if he disapproved of her display at the cantina.  
“Not when they’re trying to send a message,” she replied from beneath her hood. “It’s also hard to be subtle next to a Mandalorian.”  
“Fair enough,” he returned.  
Senn’s heart lifted a little. 

They reached the ‘storehouses’ as they were. Cheap Imperial installations now abandoned and rundown. Perfect for smuggling, although not subtle at all. The street crime in this city was obviously quite well respected--well, feared. Din described the layout to Senn under his breath as best he could as they approached. The pair stood out in the landscape like a bantha in a bathhouse. 

“Sounds like a great opportunity for an ambush,” Senn spoke between her teeth.  
“Yes,” Din confirmed. “I’m not picking up any heat signatures, though.” he murmured. 

They two approached the giant warehouse, hands hovering over their blasters. The door on the side was unlocked, even swinging open a little.  
“I don’t like that at all,” The Mandalorian muttered. 

“I don’t sense anyone here,” Senn strained as they carefully stepped inside. “It’s as if...wait.” the operative stopped dead in her tracks. Din turned, tense with her words.  
“What’s wrong?”  
“There’s someone in the vault. Scared. Waiting for us. It feels like…,” Senn suddenly bolted for the dimly lit box, no bigger than a tin shed, as it sat installed sloppily into the corner of the warehouse. It, too, was unlocked. Senn threw the door open and trained her blaster on the interior. 

“Wait! Careful!” Din hissed. Senn was already stepping back in awe, lowering her weapon. 

“Reika?” Senn whispered.  
Din also aimed his blaster on whomever was in the tiny room. Senn looked as if she were about to cry. 

A Zabrak woman, beaten and bruised, stood shaking violently in the doorway of the vault. She was shorter than Senn and looked up at her with dread. Tear lines streaked and stained her cheeks and her hands were blue with cold. She held, not a blaster, but a simple hand communicator. The woman shook her head barely, but feverishly as Senn tried to approach her. Din grabbed Senn’s arm, stopping her from stepping closer. 

“Reika! What happened to you? Where’s Belmund?” Senn tried.  
The woman’s face could only seem to melt with mounting despair and she continued to shake her head as much as she dared. The communicator suddenly crackled into life, its keeper nearly dropping it as she startled from the noise. 

“Senn, my dear. We should really talk about what happened. You remember Reika, don’t you?” the communicator echoed. The Zabrak woman held out the device miserably, pressing down the output button. 

“Belmund,” Senn spat. “Where are you?”  
“I wish I could tell you, but I have a feeling that would create more headaches for me.” the voice returned. “I just wanted to clear the air a little.”  
“How’s that?” Senn growled between her teeth. Reika closed her eyes, trying to stave off more tears as her legs shook beneath her.  
“Though our original plan for the cargo had to be altered, I still can’t have someone like you out there knowing as much as you do about our business.”

Senn’s eyes widened. Din stepped closer to Senn and placed a hand against her middle, backing her further away from the terrified Zabrak woman. 

“No! Belmund wait! You don’t have to do this! I’ll--,”  
“We’re well past that, my dear. Goodbye.” 

The communicator went silent. 

Din instantly began dragging his companion further away from the vault. Senn struggled against him just enough to remain in the woman’s view.  
“Reika, look at me! It’s going to be okay!” she cried out desperately. “Reika!” 

“Sennisab,” Reika blubbered out. “Senn!” she screamed.  
Din was practically hoisting Senn up over her shoulder now as a muffled beep sounded from the Zabrak woman. 

A low blast ripped both operative and Mandalorian from their feet, tossing them across the warehouse floor. Din grunted at the hard impact. The aftershock filled his head with cotton for a few shaky moments. Deafened and dumbstruck, he could see only Senn’s legs stumbling and staggering unsteadily back over to the vault, which smoldered with a clammy, thick smoke and an acrid smell.  
The operative stood, mute and drenched in Zabrak blood as she took in the scene with her reliable senses. By the time Din gathered himself and half-stood, Senn had sunk to her knees in a puddle of what was left of the Zabrak woman.  
The Mandalorian shook his head to clear it, and struggled to his feet. 

“Senn,” he spoke urgently as he darted to her side. “We have to go.”  
Senn just nodded her head slowly. Din kept urging her as he retrieved his blaster.  
“Now! That blast will have drawn a lot of attention,” he tired. Senn could still only seem to nod as Reika’s blood poured from her chin and hair. She was in shock. 

“Shit,” he spat. “Common.”  
With that, the Mandalorian grabbed his companion under her arms and hoisted her weight onto his hip. He threw one of her arms around his neck and walked toward the door. Tucking her own blaster behind his belt, he threw his cape over her to hide some of the mess from prying eyes as they burst from the warehouse. She walked with him, though limp and awkward. She stared straight ahead and kept nodding slightly as he drove them onward toward the ship.

City dwellers were already gathering to gawk and investigate the blast and the smoke. Din moved them as quickly as he could back toward the ship. He didn’t see any Imp colours or uniforms, but the possibility of other factions being drawn out of the cracks worried him even more. 

Finally, the ship came into view as the pair lurched forward. 

“Common, Senn. Work with me.” the Mandalorian huffed as he half carried her up the ramp. He let her slide down onto the floor before clamoring up the ladder to the bridge. He’d preprogrammed their next flight sequence and coordinates just in case they encountered trouble. 

As soon as they were moving, he slid back down the ladder to help his companion. She appeared very calm and unharmed, but her head still bobbed aimlessly. She binked too frequently, and between her tranquil state and the thick coat of Zabrak blood covering her, he couldn’t tell if she had been hurt. 

Approaching her slowly, he tried to ease her back into the space. He crouched and tilted her chin.  
“Senn. Are you hurt?”  
After a moment, she shook her head.  
“Can you lift your arms for me?” he asked gently.  
She nodded again, but didn’t move. 

The Mandalorian sighed and wrapped his arms around her, lifted, and hauled her toward the refresher. 

It took him longer than he’d have liked to peel away her blood-sodden clothing, tossing it in the disposal as he went. Her skin was stained as well. He didn’t bother removing his armour or his own clothing as he gently nudged her, one foot at a time, into the shower stall.  
Din once more wrapped his arms around her as he turned on the water. It was freezing, but that was perfect. He braced himself and her limbs. 

Senn gasped forcefully as the water hit her back and head. She instantly began gulping air and choking on the smell in her hair. Her legs went limp and the Mandalorian caught her weight as her head rolled. 

“Senn...Senn. It’s okay. Breathe. You’re okay. Breathe...Quick in, slow out,” Din soothed in a low voice. The operative shook violently as she fought her way through the panic attack. A good sign, Din thought.  
“Good girl. You’ll catch your breath soon. Quick in, slow out.” he repeated. Senn clung to his arm now as she fought her body’s natural response.  
Din slowly began to lower her to the shower floor. Moving to his knees, he sat behind her, supporting her weight, and continued to talk her through the burst of adrenaline. He caught himself drifting in and out of Mando’a as she began to catch her breath, her body becoming even more limp as the attack passed. He removed his sopping wet gloves and began gently rinsing the blood and tissue from her hair. The dark colour swirled over her skin in thick rivels and around the drain, melting quietly away along with her shock.  
He shifted and eased her weight against the cold wall. Reaching up, Din turned the dial to a slightly warmer temperature before he turned his attention back to Senn. 

She still gazed stupidly into nothing, but her expression was despondent with grief now. Another good sign. The Mandalorian checked her over for injuries once the water had washed away most of the blood. Aside from the tender scars on her back and a few new scrapes and bruises where she’d landed after the blast, she was fine. 

Din collapsed against the adjacent wall and took a few deep breaths. His hands moved to his helmet, pulling the heavy bucket up and off his head in favour of the clean water. The fact that Senn still wore the green contact lenses as he set his helmet down on the shower floor was even more disturbing, but he fought through it. 

Grunting, he pushed himself back onto his knees and sat on his heels in front of Senn. She squeezed her eyes shut with a painful look of regret, hung her head, and began to convulse with silent sobs. 

Din continued to work silently. He rubbed her hands, one at a time, concentrating on her fingernails to work away the stains. He tilted her head, tenderly wiping away the remaining blood in her hairline, behind her ears, in her brows, even her delicate eyelashes. 

He was too heartbroken, as he watched her process, to enjoy any part of the fact that this incredible woman was so naked and vulnerable before him. Instead, he concentrated on the task before him. He eventually applied some of his lye soap to her skin. Slowly, she let her own hands join in the work. Her features slowly became more composed and resigned as she moved to wash herself. 

Din decided it was time to let her take over. He stood, still watching her, as he removed the remainder of his armour and his own clothes, tossing them out of the small box one piece at a time. He rinsed his body as well, running to soap quickly over himself before turning his attention back to Senn. 

He knelt, gently took Senn’s hands in his, and placed them flat against the sides of his face. Modeling deep breaths, he pressed his forehead to hers. 

“Do you want to stay in here for a while?” he asked her softly.  
Senn shook her head after a moment.  
“No. I’m okay,” she whispered, finally responding to his touch and leaning into him. 

“C'mon,” Din urged tenderly as he withdrew, turned off the water, helped Senn up out of the refresher, and into an oversized blanket.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the massive delay my darlings! I'm exactly 7 months pregnant today and desperately trying to wrap up a few more of my projects with my literary clients before I have to take my maternity leave! 
> 
> NSFW ahead! Enjoy!

“It’s called a spate lozenge. It’s a micro-explosive charge about the size of a pill that gets inserted into the skull through the nasal cavity.” Senn spoke low. She sat cross-legged in her nest while Din saw to the ship’s navigation. He turned in his chair to face her as she spoke.  
“Belmund used to use them to intimidate his mercs. Most of the time he would just sedate someone--a trouble maker--and say he’d implanted one in them when they woke up. But sometimes he really would. And set it off as...an example…” Senn bit her own cheek to keep from breaking down. The Mandalorian’s helmet tilted down. 

“Were you and the Zabrak woman close?” he asked after a moment, though he already knew the answer. Senn stared ahead and nodded.  
“Reika was one of Belmund’s...concubines. She was always kind to me. And I was kind to her. I shouldn’t have been. He’s going to keep killing people he knows I cared about…” a tear escaped Senn’s left eye. She wiped it away quickly, but struggled to stem the tide. “I’ve failed my mission and myself. I never should have…”  
“Hey,” Din cut her off and joined her on the floor of the bridge. He tilted her chin with one gloved hand. “That’s not what the rebellion was all about. Right? You did your job and you did the right thing. Innocent people die. It’s what comes from doing the right thing sometimes.”  
Senn nodded, trying to compose herself. After a moment, she opened her eyes and looked almost straight into the visor. The green contacts she still wore shone with an unnatural intensity against the dull redness of her real eyes.  
“Is that what you’ve found? In your Creed?” Senn murmured, trying to move away from the grief.  
“I think so,” Din replied evenly, releasing her chin. “At least, it’s what I’ve seen. But...it’s also why I still believe.”  
Senn swallowed hard and nodded.  
“But we’re going to find him, and make him pay.” Din spoke low and resolutely as he stood again and returned to the consol. Senn smiled at his gesture.  
“Are you always so dramatic, Mandalorian?” she teased, trying to shake her shellshock.  
“Call it a side effect of my old age,” he returned. Senn could hear a smile in his modulated voice.  
“Old age? You can’t be over 40.”  
“Something like that. I lost track a long time ago.”  
“That must be strange.”  
“Why?”  
“Your identity is already so...hidden. Are you not allowed any sort of distinction?”  
“I know who I am. The people I care about know who I am. What else do I need?”  
“I suppose I’m just a little jealous,”  
“Oh?”  
“I’ve always felt my identity is also hidden to some extent. It’s hard not to wish others could see me. The real me. Or at least not care one way or the other. Everyone sees a blind woman, and that’s where it stops. If I’d grown up with a philosophy more like yours, maybe I’d be less bitter about my identity being so defined by...well, you understand,”  
Senn trailed off and tried to scoff at her own melancholy. Suddenly remembering, she removed the irritating contact lenses and rubbed her eyes. 

Din felt a pang of guilt as he recalled his own reaction when he first met Senn, battered and bleeding out in that dirt cell on Geonosis. It was also almost all he could see, until…

“I saw a blind woman,” Din confessed suddenly into the silence. “...until you spoke.”  
Senn tilted her head.  
“I don’t even remember,” she began. “I was pretty out of it.”  
Din stood once more and approached the operative. He knelt and took one of her hands.  
“You were barely alive. But the first thing that came out of your mouth was an apology. You told Cara you were sorry. That you tried to stop them, but you’d failed.”

Senn’s shoulders sagged with the returning memory. Din leaned in and pressed his helmet to her brow. Senn relished the feeling of the cold beskar on her aching head. 

“All you could think about was your mission. The others. Even at death’s door. If that’s not someone trying to do her job with integrity, I don’t know what is,” he offered softly. It was a relief to see her real eyes again.  
“Thank you,” Senn sighed.  
“You even teased Dune. Tried to make her feel better when she was so worried about you,” the Mandalorian chuckled quietly. “That’s when I knew,”  
Senn’s thoughts screamed to a halt and she looked up into the visor. Din was already tripping on his own tongue.  
“Knew what?” Senn prodded.  
“That you...would become someone I would come to care about...deeply.” he struggled out. Not knowing what else to say, Din simply reached up, slipped his helmet off, and placed it beside Senn so she would know.  
“What a sentimental old man,” Senn smiled. Din let out a half-chuckle. That sound alone made her want to even the playing field.  
“When you told me your name,” Senn murmured. “That’s when I...knew too.”  
They both flushed with the warm well of feeling that battered against their unspoken words. 

“I wanted to take you right there on that table back in the cantina,” Din inched closer, his voice suddenly deep and rasping with a hooded hunger. Senn closed her eyes and savoured the sound. His warm breath against her face and neck. The Mandalorian swept a damp piece of hair from the operative’s brow before leaning in and placing a soft kiss on the corner of her mouth.

“Stars, Din...I wanted to ride you in that pilot’s chair ever since…”  
“That afternoon you patched me up?” he finished for her. His breath was getting thin. Senn nodded. Her hands found his pauldrons, his neck, his jawline. He hissed. He still wasn’t used to the sensation. 

“What else?” he whispered. He had never been much for dirty talk, but Senn had unearthed something in him, both ridiculous and wildly exhilarating. He suddenly felt desperate to play in this space with her.  
“I know you were in pain, but...some of the noises you made while I was helping you with the cauterizer...I’m a little ashamed to say, I was wet almost the entire time I was patching you up.” Senn blushed harder. Din groaned deep in his throat and closed the remaining distance between them.  
“I wanted to grab you and pin you down in my bunk when you were helping me get the cuirass off. No one’s ever...removed my armour but me before. It was…”  
“Heavy?” Senn teased as his mouth began to ghost over hers--lips barely brushing her own.  
“Unbearable…” he breathed, coaxing her mouth open against his own.  
“What a twisted pair we are,” Senn stammered between the deft strokes of his tongue as he kissed her long and hard. She fell quickly into the blissful rhythm he asserted. A wicked thought gently crossed her mind.  
“What else have you only ever done yourself?”  
The Mandalorian blushed and deepened the kiss. Senn was absolutely ruining him.  
“This,” he hummed as he took one of her hands, pressed it to the back of his own, and reached down to palm himself through his trousers. Senn drew in a deep breath and bit her bottom lip, hard.  
Din recaptured that same lip between his own teeth as Senn took over the movement between them. He moaned softly into her mouth. Senn grasped his length and moved her hand up and down over his trousers as much as she could. He was so responsive--his cock twitching and pulsating with each movement. It sent heat and shivers throughout her core. The operative desperately longed for that intense connection. That comfort. She wanted to make him her own. Make him see stars. Her Mandalorian.  
Suddenly, Senn shifted to the side, wrapped one leg around his waist, grasped his pauldrons hard, and spun them both with her body weight until Din lay sprawled against the wall of the deck in the warmth of her blanket nest. The movement had rid her of the large blanket that covered her. Din had forgotten how very naked she had been when he wrapped her up after their shower. This, combined with her expert combat maneuver, had him practically panting with desire for her. His stomach and the beskar plating on top jumped with his heady breaths as she positioned herself over him, straddling his splayed legs to continue plucking at his pants and pawing his hard length.  
With achingly slow movements, Senn felt up his body and down his arms until she grasped both his wrists. Sliding herself further up into his lap, she guided his hands down to his sides until they touched the cool floor, and slid them behind his back.  
“My turn,” she murmured, her eyes dark with intention. “I’m your hands right now.” Senn finished low and rasping as she passed her lips back over his ear. Din shivered.  
“You’re good with your hands,” he returned, though his words were laboured compared to hers.  
Senn smiled and slowly began unbuttoning his trousers until his straining cock sprang from its confines. Senn wrapped her hand around the shaft and pumped once--slowly. Din grunted through his nose, his breath suddenly stolen away. Senn couldn’t get enough of how sensitive he was. There was something about this image; the thought of him sitting there against the side of the ship in his armour, chest heaving beneath her hold, hands behind his back, helmet tossed aside, cock exposed and straining for her--that made Senn weak. But she was resolved to behave herself. She wanted to take his breath away.  
“Promise to hold still?” she hummed.  
“Yes,” he uttered.

Senn added her other hand and pumped him slowly. Sinful noises escaped Din’s mouth as he watched her work him--naked and powerful. When his skin began to warm even more beneath her palms, she withdrew one of her hands and dipped two fingers into herself with a soft moan.  
A heavy huff of coveted longing escaped the Mandalorian’s chest as he watched Senn finger herself while she stroked him. A moment later, she removed her hand from her core, dripping with her slick, and returned it to his throbbing cock.  
A choked series of deep gasps and moans followed as Din’s whole body shivered with the notion (let along the sinful sensation) of Senn’s own arousal being used as lubrication for him. He threw his head back against the ship and huffed with exasperated pleasure.  
Senn pumped him skillfully, shifting her pattern every so often to give special attention to the head and sensitive vein running along the underside of his length with her thumbs and forefingers. His hips twitched instinctually, trying to meet her strokes with more speed, but she wouldn’t relent her steady pace. When the slick began to dissipate, she delved back into her own body for more, taking a moment to pleasure herself with the picture before her and the sounds that keened from the Mandalorian’s tight throat and chest.  
Din gawked at Senn’s movements, so graceful and confident. He was practically driven to the edge each time she reached for herself, her expressions lewd and stunning all at once.  
Senn slowly but steadily began falling into her own trap. The noises Din made were melting her resolve faster than she’d ever have guessed.  
“I don’t think I’ll ever get enough of that,” she breathed heavily, crawling close enough to sweep her lips over Din’s stubbled chin.  
“Enough of what?” the Mandalorian struggled out as she continued to pump him--her speed increasing.  
“Your voice. Your enthusiasm. It’s obscene...and so...truthful. I can’t believe I get to pull those noises from you,” she whispered.  
“Senn,” Din rasped as she squeezed him a little harder. “Only you. Only you have ever--ohh…” he couldn’t finish.  
The operative finally snapped and slid into his lap, a shock of cold on her thighs from the beskar plates on his legs. He gasped as she sank onto him. The whole of his length slipped into her with a slick sound. Her walls were so tight, almost throttling him, with her own built-up arousal. He filled her completely, on the cusp of pain.  
“Fuck! Senn!” Din cried out. “Please…” he begged in a strained voice. “Please give me my hands.”  
Senn pressed her brow to his, sharing his laboured breaths for another moment or two. Finally, the operative gave in with a lusty sigh as she rolled against him once, twice, then reached down and retrieved his hands from behind his back.  
“Alright--,” but before she had even finished the word, Din was gripping her waist hard enough to leave bruises, launching from the wall, and rolling until he was nearly crushing her against the floor.  
“You will be the death of me, cyar'ika,” the Mandalorian panted as he thrust into her hard and fast. His movements became frantic, carnal, and fierce as he plunged into Senn over and over again, his hips snapping with strong, solid pumps. He ran his fingers through Senn’s hair, gripping her scalp, and capturing her lips in another desperate kiss. He wanted to seal their bodies together in as many ways as he possibly could. He wanted to feel this level of connection with Senn forever.  
“You...are my--Aaa--,” Din’s whole body stuttered with his sudden, violent release. Ropes of hot cum filled Senn and sent a mirrored reaction into her own body only seconds later. She raked his scalp with her nails and did her best to meet his urgent thrusts with her own hips. She was practically pensile in his arms; suspended in a blissful state of pleasure and overwhelming warmth. The affection in his voice contrasted with the animalistic enthusiasm of his movements was no less than euphoric. For the first time since losing her sight, Senn decided she could still die happy without ever seeing another sunset. This was all she wanted.  
The Mandalorian shuddered and groaned with heavy breaths as he slowly came down from his release.

They remained a tangled mess of limbs wrapped around each other for long minutes. Neither one wanted to let go. Din finally conceded as he grew soft and slipped from Senn’s swollen folds. He rolled them both, one large hand beneath Senn’s head, until they lay fully on the dishevelled pile of blankets and linens against the wall.  
Neither of them felt the need to speak. Nothing needed to be said. Instead, they both drifted off into a lazy sleep, heads pressed together, fingers entwined, and hearts full of warmth.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Readers: Until Cara Dune’s character is recast or killed off, I will be excluding her from the rest of this fic. Gina Carano’s behaviour is inexcusable and I wish to stand with those who would see her presence eliminated from this amazing and accepting fandom. Not my kind of Rebel.

Senn woke to the sound of a faint, high-pitched beep. Dazed with sleep, she sat up and strained her ears. Din stirred next to her, one of his arms still lying heavily over her waist. She was touched he’d remained. 

There it was again. That faint tone agitated some urgent memory. Senn suddenly knew exactly what it was and her eyes went wide. 

“Din!” she turned, feeling up the beskar until she found his shoulder. “The tracking beacon! Belmund is close!”  
The Mandalorian tensed and almost instantly stood and strode to the consol. Senn (still fully nude) fumbled around her nest, seeking her bag with the tracker inside. She grabbed it triumphantly and held it up for her companion. 

“He’s in this system! Where are we?” Senn spoke urgently as she dressed. She could hear Din fiddling with the navigation controls. 

“The closest planet is, ugh, Tatooine.” He answered. “Does Belmund have a reason to go there?”  
“The Mos Eisley port is still good for business if he’s looking to offload the kids quickly. But that would be sloppy of him. Maybe he’s rushing because he’s figured out I’m traveling with a Mandalorian.”

“Or it’s another trap,” Din added quietly. “Here, hand me the tracker. I’ll lock it into the nav port,”   
Senn rushed over and did so. After some more fiddling, she heard the system lock onto the signal and they dropped out of hyperspace. Senn would’ve toppled over if she hadn’t been holding onto the back of Din’s chair. It was nice to know the Mandalorian seemed just as keen to bag that wicked man as much as she. 

“Looks like you’re right. It’s honing in on Mos Eisley,” he confirmed a moment later. “We need a plan.” 

“Yes,” Senn stood back and considered Belmund’s usual strategies. “Scrill.” She concluded.   
“Scrill is the only gangster I’ve ever seen Belmund do business with here. He’s spineless and an idiot, but no one can touch him because of his family. He would give Belmund a decent cut of the profit and wouldn’t see the issue with a quick offload if Belmund hasn’t told him about us. He may even think I’m dead.”   
“Scrill’s family?” Din asked.   
“Hutts,” Senn winced. Din sighed heavily.   
“Where do we find Scrill?”   
“He has a villa north of the port, but I don’t see why even Scrill would be stupid enough to do business there...”   
“Perfect,” Din declared after a moment.   
“Why?”   
“We’re going to pay Scrill a private visit. Catch him with his trousers down. If he’s as spineless as you say he is, he’ll give up Belmund or his plan without much of a fight.”   
The thought slowly gained traction and Senn began to smile broadly.

“He’ll have heavy security,” she circled the plan in her mind.   
“Droids or mercs?”   
“I’m not sure. Probably both. He’s a yellow-bellied princeling. Doesn’t even know how to use a blaster.”   
“What’s his trade?”   
“Mostly spice and women. He’s not exactly involved in the family business, but he sure does benefit from it.”   
“I like him more and more,” Din added sarcastically. “We’ll land a few clicks west of the villa and scope out the layout before heading in. It’s a good lead.” 

With that, Senn felt the back of the captain’s chair slip from her hands as the Mandalorian turned to face her. He ran one hand up over her arm, shoulder, neck, and finally to her cheek to tuck a strand of dark hair behind her ear. 

“Ready to finally catch this bastard?” he asked. Dangerous determination set Senn’s features.   
“Absolutely.” 

* * *  
They landed in a low clearing surrounded by dunes roughly three miles from the villa. They had no trouble scrambling any nearby flight scanners long enough to enter the atmosphere and power down. It was a far too common occurrence on Tatooine to be of any concern, even for trained security crews. Just to be sure, they waited a few hours before setting out on foot to investigate the perimeter of the property and grounds. 

After a bit of deliberation, loading, and armouring; operative and Mandalorian set out at dusk for the villa on foot. Tatooine was as dry as ever and smelt of dirty sand and the metallic tang of its harsh mineral core. Senn had been forced to return to her ratty raider garb from Geonosis, but was glad for the arid climate layers as they trudged through the sand and rocks. They agreed there was no need to use the contact lenses on this outing. 

“We’re close,” Senn spoke low. “I can smell green.”   
“Green? Here?”   
The operative nodded.   
“The villa is set up with its own freshwater system. Gardens, trees, fruit.”   
“Of course it is,” Din chided. 

After a few more minutes, Din stopped and held out his arm in front of Senn. 

“I’ve got heat signatures,” he murmured. They both dropped to their bellies and crawled the rest of the way up the shallow ridge they’d been scaling. The pulse rifle was already in Din’s hands. 

An obscenely large estate house and surrounding plantation lay prettily in a wide, terriformed valley below. Green was right. Trees and lush plants grew all around the grounds while some kind of tropical orchard sat on the far side. Tall atmosphere regulators leaned in over the property on all four sides. Din studied the layout through his helmet’s filters, counting the small red and gold blobs that moved around below. 

“Four guards on the south gate, three on the north. Three patrolling the grounds,” he reported.  
Senn nodded then spoke.  
“No mutts, but I smell petrified sand. He may have an electric grid system too.”   
Din flicked a switch on his helmet. Sure enough, a hazy purple wall--about 12 feet tall--sat in fat intervals all around the estate, just barely visible. Not something he would’ve picked up on until it was too late.

“Good girl,” he spoke without thinking. Senn repressed a smile. “We’ll stay here for a while to get a good handle on the patrol pattern, then you’ll slip down and disable the gate. When the guards start investigating, I’ll move in from the other side and take them down. Can you do that?” 

Senn thought about this plan for a moment, then nodded.   
“Yes,” 

* * *

A few hours later, Din held his breath as he watched Senn carefully slide down the shallow dune into the valley below on one hip. The inky black night of Tatooine swallowed her form like a living shadow. He knew she was up for it, but the thought of sending her so far away from him here was chilling. Once she reached the bottom, she moved low and fast toward the nearest gate. She told him she could sense the suspended vibrations of the electrical shields, but Din couldn’t help but wait for the lump of fear that formed in his chest to dissipate as he watched her work.

Senn quickly jimmied the lock on the panel open and disabled the invisible wall with the flick of a switch. It would be some time before the guards noticed, but she didn’t hesitate to find cover while she waited for the Mandalorian’s signal.

Din moved quickly around the valley before also slipping quietly down the slope and into place. He switched on his remote receiver and listened closely for the voices of the guards. It was less than 20 minutes before he caught the tail-end of a conversation. 

“--down. Get Bohdi to check it out. I’ll see if it’s the power generator.”

Moving quickly, Din positioned himself as close to the generator as he dared. He waited until the guard was less than three feet away before revealing himself. 

“Hey!” was all the guard could manage before his feet were swept out from under his legs and he was left on the sandy earth twitching with the pulse rifle’s stun residue. 

Din made quick work of the other two who had heard the small commotion before either of them could call it in.   
When he finally made his way over to the control panel on the other side of the estate, he heard more voices crackling in over the receiver. 

“You idiots didn’t even turn it on. If the boss finds out--AA!” the sound was cut off as the man suddenly crumpled to the ground and squealed with pain. Senn’s small form hovered over his body for a moment before disappearing back into the shadows. Din smiled and struck the rifle against his vambrace twice to let her know he was close. 

“What did Bohdi do now?! Get himself electrocuted? Not surprising…” he heard from his left. The Mandalorian turned and slammed the guard across the throat with the pulse rifle before swinging the weapon to jab him in the chest with the stun spanner end. 

“Nope. But you did,” Din muttered. 

Senn rolled closer and the Mandalorian swept in low to the left as another guard arrived to investigate. 

Five takedowns later--only one that was a little loud--Senn and Din finally reunited on the grounds. 

“Nicely done,” he whispered. “Are you alright?”   
“Fine, you?” she responded, a little winded.   
“Fine. Let’s go shake up this Scrill character,” he said, strafing forward toward the estate, swinging the rifle into his back, and drawing his blaster. Senn followed suit, training the barrel down with both hands.

The closer they got to the mansion, the more the air began to feel humid, cool, and clean. The atmosphere regulators hummed quietly while a barrage of exotic citrus and bitter sweet flora assaulted Senn’s nose. 

“Six steps up to the door. I don’t see anyone inside yet,” Din whispered. Senn nodded. The pair instinctively flanked the entrance before pushing the doors open and sweeping the foyer. 

“BT units! Two!” Din called out. Senn crushed herself against the doorway to calculate her shot.   
The Mandalorian darted forward and down, snaring one of the droid’s limbs with his wrist cable, taking two shots to the cuirass, and blasting a hole through the machine. He suddenly heard the unmistakable song of a quick burst grenade charging inches from his head. The other droid had taken the opportunity to activate it’s last lethal defence. But Din turned just in time to see a clean shot whistle through the droid’s head, leaving nothing but a glowing red hole. 

Senn leaned against the wall, her blaster smoking, her chest rising and falling steadily.   
He was about to thank her when she turned her head, her pale eyes suddenly wide with dread. 

“Senn?” he began.   
“Belmund,” she breathed. “He’s--,” 

“Well done, my dear,” 

Din spun and aimed his blaster at the voice. A tall, lean man sporting a slicked back, greying hairline, chin strap, and a long brown coat stepped from the far doorway that led further into the mansion. An antique cartridge pistol hung on his belt. He clapped his hands in earnest while at least a dozen LOM units and four more armed mercs filed in behind him, all armed to the teeth. 

“I knew you were good at making friends, but a Mandalorian!” Belmund spoke with sincere praise and awe. “This is a gift.”   
“Hired help,” Senn spat. Din rose to his feet, but continued to train his blaster at the smuggler’s chest.   
“I’m flattered, truly,” Belmund continued to step forward, hand to his heart. “But it’s time to throw in the towel, Sennisab Gann. If you come quietly, I’ll make it faster for you.”   
“Where are the kids?” Senn barked. Belmund sighed.   
“I thought that might be the case. But I brought you a gift. A choice,” he raised his hand and Senn’s rage collapsed onto the edge of despair as one of the mercs retrieved a young boy--no older than 10--who squirmed and whined as he was tossed to the floor in front of Din.   
Belmund took a few large steps back and produced a small detonator from his coat. Senn dropped her blaster. The boy’s nose bled and he sniffed a sob into the air. 

“Liam, is that you?” Senn spoke as evenly as she could, though Din could hear the terror in her voice. Senn looked toward Belmund with a glare that could’ve peeled the flesh from his bones. The boy sniffed again and whimpered out a yes.   
“Is he gonna kill me?” Liam cried softly.   
“No,” Senn answered firmly. “Liam, you’re going to be just fine. Belmund is angry with me, not you. Do you understand?”   
The boy nodded. 

“Smart cookie, this one,” Belmund smiled, glancing at Din’s visor and pointing to the operative. Senn crossed the room slowly, removing her overcoat, shedding her second blaster, and raising her hands as she walked. 

“Senn--,” Din growled, his own weapon still pointed at Belmund. He’d never wanted whistling birds more in his life. 

“Liam,” Senn interrupted him firmly. “You’re going to go with my friend. He’ll take you somewhere safe and you’ll never have to come back. Do you understand?” The operative stared Belmund down as she laid out her terms. “Belmund is going to let you both go now. I want you to go sit outside and wait for my friend, okay?” she finished. 

Belmund raised his eyebrows, amused for a moment, before shrugging and casting a casual glance to the merc who had produced the boy. The merc stepped away and lowered his weapon, letting the boy scramble to his feet and run to the door.

“Mandalorian,” Senn spoke tightly from her trembling chest once the boy was outside. “Lower your weapon and go join the boy,” 

Din looked at Senn sideways. He had no intention of moving. Belmund stepped forward again. 

“Oh, no no, my dear. I gave you one gift. You brought me one gift,” the smuggler gestured to Din. “This is a good exchange.” he concluded, thoughtfully nodding his head and brushing some of Senn’s hair behind her ear. She flinched. Din seethed beneath his armour. 

“Belmund--,” Senn started, but before she could say another word, the smuggler flicked his wrist and shot Senn’s right leg with his antique cartridge pistol. The operative screamed and collapsed to the floor. 

“Senn!” Din shouted. All the weapons in the room clicked and focused on the Mandalorian. Four of the droids circled around behind Din and seized him in place. Belmund sighed, looking bored and slightly disappointed as Senn choked in pain beneath him, clutching her leg. 

“But you still owe me some pain,” the smuggler muttered. “You made me trust you. And my trust, once lost, is a deadly ghost, my dear.” 

Din was pushed to his knees and cuffed while Belmund reached down and grabbed a handful of Senn’s hair. He lifted her head and looked into her cloudy eyes. 

“I wish you could see it. All the pain you caused. All the pain I’m about to cause you. I wonder how much you actually see behind those cold eyes,” his voice had suddenly become heavy with tempered rage and wonder.   
The greasy man produced a knife from his belt and pressed it to Senn’s throat. 

“Stop!” Din shouted menacingly. “There’s no place you’ll be able to hide from me!” 

Belmund tilted his head, curious. Then wrenched Senn’s head around to face him.

“Senn, you surprise me! Is that affection for you I hear? From a Mandalorian?”

Senn didn’t respond, but then, Din wasn’t sure if she could at this point. The pool of blood growing beneath Belmund’s boots had her eyes growing dim. 

“Isn’t this an opportunity!” the smuggler smiled and looked around at his men with genuine delight. “Emotional leverage with one of the greatest warriors in the galaxy. You really shouldn’t have, my dear,” he finished.   
He gestured to the closest merc and held out his free hand. The hired gun handed his employer a small cauterizer pen.

“If we’re raising the stakes, let’s lengthen the game.” he said, tossing Senn to the floor and stepping back to let two of his men retrieve the operative and hold her in place. Her head lolled and she was very pale. Belmund then stepped back into the scene and pressed the now hot cauterizer deep into the wound he’d just made on her thigh. 

Senn screamed, her voice shuddering and strained. Belmund pinched her jaw with one hand and lifted her face up to take in her pain before looking at the Mandalorian.   
“What do you think of that, Mando?” he taunted. “Ever made a woman scream like that?” 

Din was beyond rage. His cuirass jumped with frenzied, heaving breaths as he scaled the layout of the room and every movement Belmund made with a vicious resolve.   
Belmund smiled, straightened, and kneed Senn in the mouth. Her head snapped back before slowly dropping forward again, blood dripping from her nose. 

The only part of her that moved was her hand. Her arm hung lifeless in the grasp of one of the mercs, but her fingers shook with a small movement that deliberately repeated. Din held his breath.

Belmund passed in front of her again and her hand went still as he viciously kicked her in the ribs. She choked on the impact and gasped for air. Again, her hand twitched and moved with the same gesture--a small tap.   
Din suddenly realized what she was trying to tell him. Just to the side of her hand was a small gas bomb strapped to the merc’s belt who held her. The Mandalorian didn’t wait another moment. 

Elbowing one of the droids off balance for an instant, he shot his wrist cable out, hooking the small, round canister and yanking the merc from his stance.   
Senn fell to the floor as the others reacted to the sudden retaliation, but the gas bomb was in Din’s hand before anyone could calculate his intentions. 

A sudden burst, and the room was filled with a noxious cloud that had every non-machine creature choking, vomiting, or running. Din leapt into action, his helmet protecting him from both the gas and visual impairment it caused. He dispatched all four droids trying to hold him before their sensors could adjust to the new threat. The other machines had already opened fire, but were still working to navigate the gas cloud.

Rolling behind a pillar, Din grabbed a short range barrel blaster that had skidded to a stop by his leg and swivelled into the sniper stance to blow holes in three more droids across the room. He took a few shots to his armour, but managed to roll back into cover. He appeared on the other side a moment later, stood, and activated his flamethrower as he strode toward the rest of the machines. 

He hadn’t considered the effect the fire would have on the gas, however, and was forced to drop to his chest as the cloud of smoke almost instantly combusted, sending the remaining humans flying or shouting in pain. He could see Senn sprawled out on the marble floor just a few meters from him.   
A moment later, the last of the gas had burned up, and he was left exposed and prone with two more smoking droids descending on him. Looking around desperately, he found Belmund’s cartridge pistol on the floor. He rolled, two shots glancing off his cuirass and bracers, before he had the pistol in hand.   
The first droid dropped instantly as Din shot him through the jaw, but the antique gun suddenly clicked uselessly in his hand as he tried to destroy the last machine. The Mandalorian’s mind raced. But before the droid could deliver the killing blow, a messy series of blaster shots pounded at it from the side until it finally dropped to the ground; a smoking pile of metal and wiring. 

Din whipped his head around to see Liam standing just inside the door of the manor. The boy held a smoking, oversized blastor in his shaking hands, far too close to his chest, stumbling with the recoil. 

Din didn’t even bother counting the bodies in the room or looking for Belmund before scrambling over to Senn. 

“Senn! Senn! Can you hear me?” he tried. She didn’t respond. He scanned her vitals--which were dangerously over or understimulated. 

“Stay awake. Stay awake, cyar'ika,” he panted, as he scooped her up into his arms and turned to Liam. The boy had dropped the weapon and stood stunned. 

“You did good, kid. Can you help us get out of here?” 

Liam just nodded and scurried back out the doors, a little too fast. The Mandalorian followed as quickly as he could, holding Senn as close as possible. Outside, Liam stood, waiting for him, and pointed to a line of luxury speeder bikes and trams alongside one of the fenced gardens.


End file.
